


Haar

by Aelfgyfu



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Friendship, Gen, Recovery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 15:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1823158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelfgyfu/pseuds/Aelfgyfu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carson didn't start remembering anything more than vaguely until later. While he lay in one of his own infirmary beds, back in Atlantis, he thought that he didn't want to remember. He'd prefer not to recall any of this. He didn't belong here anymore. He'd felt so at home in this city, from the first time they'd arrived, and especially in the infirmary.</p>
<p>That was before he'd taken all he'd learned, from all his years' work and all this city had allowed him to do, and put it to use making weapons. Weapons he gave to their enemies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haar

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS: Particularly "Allies," "No Man's Land," and "Misbegotten"; scattered references to prior episodes possible  
> WARNINGS: dark thoughts; some bad language 
> 
> First posted to The Mead Hall 16 Nov 2007
> 
> " **haar** : local. (ha:r); Also harr, haur. A wet mist or fog; esp. applied on the east coast of England and Scotland, from Lincolnshire northwards, to a cold sea-fog." ( _Oxford English Dictionary_ online)

Carson Beckett didn't start remembering anything more than vaguely until later. While he lay in one of his own infirmary beds, back in Atlantis, he thought that he didn't want to remember. He'd prefer not to recall any of this. He didn't belong here anymore. He'd felt so at home in this city, from the first time they'd arrived, and especially in the infirmary.

That was before he'd taken all he'd learned, from all his years' work and all this city had allowed him to do, and put it to use making weapons. Weapons he gave to their enemies. When the Wraith hadn't used the weapons themselves, Sheppard and the others ended up killing all the survivors anyway. It wasn't their fault, though. He'd created the situation that led to the killing.

All he could think now was that he didn't deserve to be here, in the place that had always welcomed him. Was this feeling of wrongness the city rejecting him?

He never did rightly remember the trip back from that godforsaken planet. He spent it all in the Daedalus's sick bay. He remembered Rodney being there sometimes, and Teyla and Ronon. Even Caldwell came by. Yet he couldn't really recall what anyone had said. Nor, for that matter, could he recall much since they had gotten back.

"Carson! Good to—" Radek's voice at his elbow startled him, and he jerked away. Radek stepped back, apologetic. "Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to—surprise you. Just, I needed Rodney to help with computer mess, and he told me you were here, so I thought I would come see...." The engineer stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked inquisitively at Carson.

Was there a question somewhere in there? Carson wasn't sure what he was supposed to say.

The silence grew. Radek rocked back and forth on his feet a little, eventually adding, "I thought—Rodney said—I'm glad to see you looking so well."

Carson nodded. "Thanks," he said.

Radek pushed his glasses up his nose. "Will they be keeping you here long?"

Carson shrugged. He wasn't sure how long he had been there already. He hadn't noticed when Rodney left. He really ought to have noticed.

Radek told him something about the work he and Rodney were doing. Carson didn't follow, but he doubted he was meant to do. Radek was filling time, until Carson could think of something to say. Carson was failing.

Radek trailed off, looking to his side, and Carson realized Kellie Cole was approaching.

"Everything looks normal," she told him with a smile that even in his dazed state he could tell was forced. "If—if Michael took any time off your life, it's so little that we can't even tell. Your scans—well, everything looks basically the same as your previous tests.... Your stay in sick bay on the Daedalus helped with the shock and dehydration, but you should take it easy for the next few days."

Carson nodded.

"Everything seems normal. You should be fine," she added.

Carson nodded again.

"You don't want to look at any of the scans yourself?" she asked him, all traces of the smile gone.

He shook his head. She was still watching him, wanting something from him. "I trust you," he said with his own forced smile. "No need to check your work." Kellie didn't say anything, just finally nodded too.

Was she disgusted with him for what he'd done? Did she, did his whole staff, feel betrayed by a man who called himself a doctor yet brought about countless deaths? He could usually tell how people felt. He was a doctor: he needed to know when "fine" or "I'm good" meant someone was really unharmed, and when it meant "I hurt like hell, but if I realize that, I might start screaming."

But this time he couldn't tell how his own colleagues felt. And Carson knew he should know what they felt. And he should _care_ what his staff felt, what they thought. Instead he felt just a glimmer of curiosity. What _was_ Kellie thinking?

He should care what Doctor Weir thought, too. She had come to see him right away, before they'd even done the scans. She'd asked a few questions. She'd said a few things; he wasn't sure what. She'd seemed sympathetic. She hadn't told him how badly he'd done, how wrong he'd been.

He should care what Rodney thought. Rodney must think something, because he'd been with him a lot on the Daedalus. He'd even come with him to the infirmary after they left the Daedalus. That was very kind of him.

Kellie suggested he should stay for observation. He shook his head. She didn't insist. He didn't belong in the infirmary any longer. They must know it.

"Your quarters?" Radek asked, and Carson realized he'd missed a few words.

He wandered down the corridors with Radek at his side, letting the other man's words wash over him. "I'm tired,: he said at what seemed like an appropriate interval. He just couldn't really listen to Radek's words right now. Radek was a good friend; he deserved better. But Carson was doing all he could at the moment.

 

  
Normal, they said. He'd be fine. Carson lay on his bed and replayed the words over and over in his head, hoping each time that this time, they'd mean something. He was pretty sure he should feel grateful, or relieved. Or maybe upset, or guilty.

He hadn't felt much of anything since they'd fired on the people down on that planet. They'd had to run to the Jumper right after that, and a few minutes later Rodney had been asking him if he was okay, and he said that he was. By then, he was no longer sure what "okay" even meant. He wasn't sure why he said it.

He couldn't sleep, though he felt tired to the bone. Carson thought he ought to be worried about that too. Maybe it was shock. Shock could be like that. He'd seen it often enough. But it should have ended by now. How long had it been since they'd found him, anyway?

He didn't feel like going back to the infirmary, or getting his comm off the table, or even rolling over to see the clock. So he didn't. Shock or not, it didn't really matter.

He lay on the bed and thought he ought to remember what had happened, but he didn't want to. Couldn't. Both. He'd tried. They'd asked him on the Daedalus, that much he did know. He knew he'd been in the hut with Michael. Alone with him. And then he remembered being on a ship, and then another ship. Nothing else.

Someone was at the door. He should probably answer that. Fortunately, answering it didn't require getting out of bed. He thought "open," not even very hard, and it opened. Atlantis still heeded him.

"Carson?" It was Rodney. "Have you just been lying here all day?"

Carson looked around. It was dark; it was night. He'd never closed the blinds. "Aye."

"Have you had anything to eat?" Rodney sounded anxious. Poor Rodney. He'd had a rough time of it, kidnapped by the Wraith, and then having to get back on that Hive ship before he'd properly recovered from the whole thing. Then he'd seen the Hive ship blown to bits by another Hive ship, while they hid in a cloaked Jumper.

"No."

"Okay!" Rodney clapped his hands together, startling Carson a little. "Let's go!"

Carson really didn't feel like going anywhere, but it was easier than staying in bed with Rodney looming over him. He found his boots, put them on, and went.

Rodney seemed to be steering him everywhere. To the transporter. Toward the mess. And he talked.

Finally Carson focused on what Rodney was saying. "You missed a session with Kate."

"I had a session with Kate?" He couldn't remember scheduling one. He hadn't even planned to be back yet.

"Yes! She set it up with you while you were in the infirmary, waiting for some tests! Don't you remember?" Rodney snapped his fingers in his face.

"Don't." Carson pushed his hand away half-heartedly. "That's annoying."

"Oh, we're up to words with three syllables now! Seriously, should you be back in the infirmary? If you don't snap out of this, I'm taking you back. And tomorrow, you're seeing Kate for sure."

What is "this"? Carson wondered. Shock should have worn off by now. He hadn't truly been hurt, after all. He'd been the one responsible for the hurt.

"She called me when she couldn't page you. I told her I'd check on you," Rodney continued. "I figured maybe you weren't ready to talk yet, and I knew you'd just been in the infirmary. I mean, even you must get sick of it sometimes. Last thing you needed today was another doctor." He paused for a bit. "What? No argument she's not the same kind of doctor?"

They made it to the mess. Rodney steered Carson into line.

"What do you want?" Rodney wrinkled his nose at everything. "That stew's probably the least offensive."

Carson looked at it. There were potatoes. Some other vegetables.

"I had that for dinner," Rodney went on. "It's...tolerable, I guess."

He looked at Rodney. He looked around the mess. There weren't many people there, and most seemed to be finishing. Rodney had already eaten. So why had he brought Carson here?

"Do you even know what time it is?" Rodney's voice held an edge.

Carson went to check his watch, but apparently he'd taken it off at some point.

"You are _so_ seeing Kate in the morning!"

Carson ate some stew. Rodney ate some dessert. He talked about being in a Wraith cocoon. Ronon cut them both out. Ronon was very impressive. It was cold on the Wraith ship, Rodney said. They'd managed to warm it up some after they'd taken control. Carson shivered a little. It had been chilly on the planet, especially first thing in the morning, and of course at night. And when he was strapped to the gurney and couldn't move.

Rodney should never have been on a Hive ship in the first place. They should never have agreed to work with the Wraith, for any reason.

"You gonna eat the rest of that?" Rodney asked pointedly.

Carson shrugged. Rodney could have it.

"You know, you're scaring the hell out of me," Rodney said bluntly, not even taking his food.

Carson felt a little pang. Rodney was being really nice to him, in his own way, and Carson wasn't reciprocating at all. "I'm sorry, Rodney. Maybe I'm still in shock?"

"You need to go back to the infirmary?" Rodney's face was suddenly about three inches from his own, eyes wide, and Carson started back in his seat.

"No. No, I think some more sleep. I'll talk to Kate in the morning." "More sleep" was a lie, actually, because it implied that he'd slept before. He wasn't sure when he'd last slept. Had he slept in that tent where Michael had him tied up? He was supposed to rest in the Daedalus's sickbay, but he didn't remember sleeping there. He didn't remember not sleeping there, though.

He did sleep some that night, but he wasn't sure for how long. His chest ached. Phantom pain—the discoloration from where Michael had touched him was already fading.

He remembered the faces. They'd given names to every one of those human-Wraiths. He'd put photos in their charts. He was trying to learn all the names they'd given them, but he hadn't managed them all. Maybe half of them. Wasted effort, all of it. They were all gone now. What had he been thinking?

Maybe death by weapons fire was a blessing. It kept the more reverted Wraith from feasting on the remaining human ones. It was faster, less painful, less frightening.

But it was still death. What happened to Wraith when they died? Rodney believed nothing happened after death. This was it: you had one shot at life, and then it was over. Which made all the times Rodney risked his life all the braver.

Carson couldn't believe this was it. Maybe it was the way he was raised. Maybe it was the fact that, if this was all there was, the universe was too cruel. People like Peter Grodin and Christine Dumais and Tom Griffin had to be somewhere else now. Somewhere where they didn't suffer and fear. They'd earned something far better.

Carson was afraid he'd earned something far, far worse.

But he didn't feel it yet. He couldn't feel any of it. He just felt numb.

Once at uni, he and a friend had gone out drinking. As they'd walked back, they'd been talking, and they'd been so intent on whatever it was they were discussing that they weren't looking where they were going. So Andrew had walked smack into one of those stanchions that kept cars out of the pedestrian area. It was metal, and not quite waist-high, and Andrew hit it and just collapsed to the walk, and he gasped out, "This is going to hurt in a moment."

And then it did. Andrew had been okay, but it had been a really bad few minutes. They'd joked about it later. Days later.

And Carson lay in bed thinking, "This is going to hurt in a moment," but it didn't.

He could always feel Atlantis around him. It hummed; he felt more than heard it. Usually, it soothed him. But tonight, it felt wrong. Disturbed. Or maybe he was. He no longer fit into Atlantis's harmony.

And then Rodney was back, telling him he'd gotten him the first appointment this morning with Kate, and he was going to make sure he got there. It was morning, though he didn't remember falling asleep. He got out of bed and opened the blinds he didn't remember closing last night. And he could see that Rodney was really, really scared.

Worry for Rodney managed to penetrate the fog hanging around his head. "Have you talked to her? About being...." He couldn't finish the thought. He couldn't voice what had happened, let alone what could have happened, to Rodney.

"Yeah! Yeah, I did, actually."

Rodney told him how helpful Kate had been. His voice followed Carson around the room. Carson pulled together a pile of clothes to bring into the washroom so he wouldn't have to change in front of Rodney. Actually, he wasn't sure he really cared what Rodney saw anyway. He simply wasn't in the habit of changing in front of others.

Carson shut the door and wondered if showering and shaving were really worthwhile. He'd just have to do them all over again. And brushing his teeth. If he had back every minute of his life he'd spent.... Would the time have helped him think of some way out of what he'd done? An alternative to giving the _Wraith_ weapons to turn their own kind human, and to torture and kill them as humans?

When that Wraith ship came, they threatened Atlantis—and even Earth, if they'd taken the Gate. The Wraith could destroy all humanity, even on his home planet. He'd found it all too easy during the crisis not to see the Wraith as human. The Wraith they encountered had little or no individuality: no personal names, no personal choices. It was so easy to remember Michael reverting to Wraith, nearly killing Teyla. It was so easy to say, "Yes, let's have our enemies feed on each other." They weren't, after all, human. Carson had sworn to protect _human_ life, not all life.

With the threat of a Hive ship directly over the planet, Carson had not made the time or effort to remember the more human Michael. He'd not made the time or effort to think of Wraith turned human being fed upon by Wraith. To realize that he would be sentencing thousands of _humans_ to their deaths. Only when he saw a Wraith turn human in his own infirmary, only when he watched the Queen feed upon the poor man, did he have to face what he was doing.

Then it was too late. He couldn't stop one Wraith in his infirmary from killing a man right in front of him; of course his feeble objections had been too little, too late to stop the plan. The Daedalus went off, and Rodney and Ronon on the Hive ship itself, so Wraith could use a weapon he had created—to turn Wraith human and then destroy them, horribly.

If he had taken the time, made the effort, he could have found another solution. There must another way out, without killing thousands. Without committing atrocities. He could no longer hide behind good intentions, as he had with Hoff. He was a war criminal.

"Carson?" A loud voice, just outside the door. Maybe a wee bit worried.

He started shaving.

 

  
Kate Heightmeyer told Carson how normal it was to feel anxious, powerless, and a few other things—he'd stopped listening after a bit. He thought he was managing to agree in the right places. Her eyes narrowed at him. Maybe she didn't trust him any more. Maybe she blamed him. She'd be right.

It was very quiet, and Carson realized he didn't know how long ago she had stopped talking. He tried to sneak a look at his watch and remembered he hadn't put it on again.

"Carson?" Her eyes were open wider again. Worried.

"Hmm?"

"Are you even listening to me?"

He tried to smile. He thought he might even have pulled it off. "Sorry. My mind's wandering a little."

She wasn't smiling. "Carson, you've been through a serious trauma. I think you need to talk about it. Normally, I'd try to let you do it in your own time, and I know you still need rest. But, as Doctor Weir reminded me yesterday, there are security issues at stake."

"Security issues?" Carson really hadn't been paying enough attention. "But I thought they were all dead?"

Kate shook her head sadly. "We can't be sure."

Was she sad that they were all dead? Or that they _weren't_ all dead?

"Carson, you need to talk to me about what happened."

"What's there to say?" _I'm a mass-murderer, again?_ That sounded too self-centered. Like it was all about Carson Beckett. He knew it wasn't. But he also knew he could have prevented it. He should have refused to cooperate. Or better yet, never done that first experiment. With Michael. That was all his idea, right from the start.

But how could he tell Kate Heightmeyer that they'd gone wrong right there? Kate had been on board ever since he conceived the experiment. He'd run the idea of capturing a Wraith and testing the retrovirus past her before he even went to Doctor Weir. Kate had reassured him every step of the way that Carson just needed to deal with the physical changes. She would work with the converted Wraith on the psychic adjustments. That hadn't turned out so well. Then, of course, no emotional or intellectual help was needed when he turned the retrovirus into a weapon, because the Wraith would just feed on the newly humanized.

He couldn't tell her how wrong he'd been, because in a way, he'd be blaming her. But it wasn't her fault. It was his.

"Carson!" Kate said, her voice becoming sharp. "Are you feeling all right, physically? Should I call the infirmary?"

"I'm fine," he said dully. "Tired, if you can believe that."

"Why wouldn't I believe it?"

"Because I haven't done anything in...days." He wasn't sure how many.

"Why don't you talk me through what happened?" Kate said in a soothing voice. The kind he usually found comforting. But it didn't touch him this time. It was as if she were far away, or a recording. "Carson? After Colonel Sheppard and the others left?"

So he told her. It was fairly easy at the start. He'd still thought they could save a lot of Wraith. They'd been human. "I thought things were going well on the planet. Then, suddenly, Lathan was dead, but I thought he was just confused by the whole process. He still wasn't sure who he was or where he was. He was disoriented, and he fell. So I thought.

"My first mistake was in not starting the autopsy until Colonel Sheppard and the others had gone. But it looked like Lathan had died of natural causes. I didn't see any reason to hold them back. I'd hoped to learn more about how the retrovirus was working from the autopsy.

"But...." Keep it clinical. Maybe then he could get to that lost time that he knew he should have. "It soon became apparent that there was post-mortem damage to the body. So I finished the autopsy and thought I'd go look and see how it had happened." He sucked in a breath. It was getting harder. "And my next mistake was to go alone. I was on a planet full of unarmed humans with a few armed security personnel, so I wasn't worried." He stopped, staring at the floor, hesitating to think about what had come next.

"You said, 'My first mistake' and 'my next mistake'—but weren't those perfectly reasonable courses of action given the circumstances?"

Carson frowned. "No, they weren't. I mean, I thought they were, but obviously I was wrong."

"In hindsight."

Ah. Here was the part where she relieved him of all responsibility, of all guilt, told him there was nothing more he could have done. And he'd believed her, after Michael, when she told him they had done their best, and it wasn't his fault. But she had a vested interest in believing that, because she had helped him.

But she was wrong. _He_ was wrong. He had done a trial on an intelligent being, if not a human, far too soon. And then the patient _was_ human, and he hadn't followed proper protocols. Never had he secured any consent. Never. Overconfident because of his success with the ATA gene therapy, he'd respected no boundaries. Carson Beckett didn't have to do incremental experiments like everyone else. Even the disasters on Hoff and with the Wraith girl hadn't punctured his inflated ego.

He'd meant well, at least at first. He'd thought being a Wraith was like being mentally ill; it was curable, and the person would be happier afterwards. A paranoid schizophrenic might not consent to treatment, he'd reasoned, but a court-appointed guardian could consent. And that person might live a much better life, and be grateful, afterwards.

Now it occurred to him that not every case was so clear-cut. Some bipolar patients didn't want medication because it took away both extremes, even left them numb. Was it right to force medication on them? Did patients with social anxiety _need_ medication? Or was it all right for them simply to avoid public situations? Was that a free choice?

But people with social anxiety didn't suck the life out of one helpless victim after another.

Did the numbness of those bipolar patients on medication feel like this?

"Carson? Please continue." She was leaning forward again, very close to him, and then, as if she realized how close she was, Kate settled back in her chair again.

"I found the site. The blood was all wrong. It was wrong on his body, and it was wrong at the site. I mean, there was virtually no blood. His heart had stopped before any injuries in the fall. He was murdered, and _then_ the body was pushed.

"And then I saw a man—not one of the security personnel. And I followed. I don't even know when they killed the lieutenant and the others. I wasn't in camp. I was playing spy."

"Do you really think you could have stopped them?" Kate asked gently when he didn't continue. "At any point?"

"If I'd worked out what happened faster, I could have kept Sheppard and his team from leaving. We could have had help on the planet. Or maybe I could have warned Morrison and the others. They could have—taken a defensible position. But I don't know how we'd have separated the...more human ones from the ones who'd reverted. I don't know!" The fog he felt he'd been living in for the past while was starting to dissipate, just a little. And little trickles of pain were coming in.

"Carson, you're not responsible—"

"Aye, I am! I did _all_ of it! My mistake was not on the planet; I went wrong long before that! I made them what they were, and—and I knew they'd die! I _gave_ that weapon to the Wraith, to kill other Wraith, horribly!" He pushed back the pain, tried this time to step willingly back into the fog, to his own surprise. "And when we ended up with surviving Wraith, who'd already been gassed—I thought I could escape, I could _not_ commit mass murder, this time. We could put them somewhere, set up a colony, keep them alive! And human!" It was rather like anesthetic wearing off too soon, Carson thought. Stabs of pain coming and going.

Kate was frowning deeply, warningly. He expected censure, from the stern look on her face, but instead she said: "You had no choice, Carson. _We_ had no choice. They'd have killed us and taken the information from our computers. They could have taken Atlantis, and then they'd have gone to Earth! It was our only chance—to live and to limit the damage they could do. To buy some time, to try to find a way out. And we did. That Hive was destroyed."

Carson shook his head, slowly, slightly. He felt as though moving too much physically much might jar him into more pain. "But the information wasna all _in_ the computers! The delivery system was in my head!" He tapped his head. "We'd scarce started work on that! We did it here _for_ the Wraith! I gave a mortal weapon to our worst enemies!"

Kate sat frozen, her lips slightly parted, her brow furrowed. Had she not grasped the extent of his guilt before? Was she going to turn away from him now? He couldn't blame her.

"You don't think they could have taken it from your mind?" she asked. "You know what happened to Colonel Sumner."

Carson nodded again, the slightest movement he could make. "But I wouldna have violated my oath!"

"But everyone on Atlantis would have been dead, the Wraith would have had the same information, and they would have used it unchallenged. Because, in the end, Sheppard and Caldwell and Lorne _did_ stop them. Because we cooperated with them when we had no choice, and we bought the time we needed."

Carson stared at her. He'd heard the words, but he couldn't make sense of them.

Kate smiled a little. She was trying to make it easy on him. "I'm saying, Carson, that you might have been able to escape personal responsibility that way, but we would _all_ be dead. Everyone on this station. They'd have taken your knowledge first; Michael knew you. We'd all have died slowly and painfully. And the Wraith who did it would still be out there. And now they're not. You did what you had to to keep us alive."

"Escape responsibility?" he asked in a whisper. He felt anger coming on, like a storm front still some distance away. "You think I hold my reputation above all our lives? Well, clearly I don't, because I gave them what they wanted. I put aside my reputation. And more than that—my ethics. Because I was scared. I wanted to live. I wanted _all_ of us to live.

"And I was _wrong_. What I did, no one should have done. And if we were so damned scart about the Wraith pulling knowledge from my head, I could have hindered that quite easily." If he had had the stomach to end it, like Brendan Gall. He wasn't sure he did. But he continued, "Sheppard stopped the Wraith sucking everything out of Sumner."

Kate's eyes widened even more. Carson had made a mistake. Would she put him on suicide watch? She'd have to. He didn't care very much.

Kate moved to straighten her top and furtively consult her watch; he had made similar gestures enough to know what she was doing. Wanting to get rid of him? He couldn't blame her.

He felt weary. The anger was moving off again; the storm had broken and passed. The haar was thickening, the pain abating. He'd wanted to vanish back into those mists again, hadn't he? He was getting it.

"Carson, we obviously need to talk about this more."

Carson didn't see the point, but he didn't feel like arguing.

"But we have a...a pressing issue here. It is _possible_ , and I stress _possible_ , that one or more of the Wraith escaped the planet. Colonel Sheppard didn't have the chance to confirm that they were all dead. If they escaped, they...." She'd been so confident, most of this session, as usual. But now she was faltering. "The team found you strapped down; the medical staff confirmed that a Wraith fed on you. I know they learned about the failsafe and disarmed it. Do you know...what else they might have taken?"

Oh, God. Carson squeezed his eyes shut, but that gave rise to vertigo. He opened them again. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He couldn't form the words. He had tried to remember, but maybe not tried hard enough, because nothing came.

But now, with Kate talking about security, about what they might have learned from him, he could guess. What would Michael have wanted? Besides the bomb, which Carson must have revealed to him, because it didn't go off?

Kate tried to look encouraging.

"You mean—did they learn how to make the retrovirus weapon anyway?" There, he'd said it, and his mouth slammed shut again, jarring his jaw. It wasn't as if he knew much about Atlantis's defenses; Michael could surely have gotten more damaging information from the security detail.

Kate nodded hesitantly. "Among other things. You...the timeline you gave the doctors on the Daedalus and here when they treated you was very vague. We don't even know how exactly how long you were held, or how many times...you were...questioned."

Carson's chest ached. It was all in his head, he told himself. There was no wound there to speak of. Some discoloration, an old bruise. That was all.

"Carson, can you tell me what they...asked you?"

"There was no asking," he said in a small voice.

"Do you know...?"

He shook his head. "I don't remember. I remember being restrained. I...oh, God." He remembered Michael leaning over him, tearing apart the last shreds of his bravado.

Kate sat very patiently. He made an effort to talk, for her.

"I said he couldn't threaten me because I knew he was gonna kill me anyway, and he said I was...too valuable." Michael must have wanted the retrovirus. And Carson had had quite enough in his head. He had too good, too detailed a memory.

Kate's eyes had been on him far too long, and he saw _sympathy_ , of all things. He couldn't stand it. He bent forward and put his face in his hands.

"And then?" she said after some time.

"And then...I don't know. I misremember." He remembered Michael's voice echoing inside his head; the last thing he thought he remembered clearly, in fact, was hearing Michael's voice without seeing Michael's lips move. That couldn't be right. "I can't even remember what he asked, or what he said. There's this great dark hole in my memory. I don't remember him leaving. I don't remember anyone else coming, or even getting on the Jumper. I scarce remember being on a Jumper, and then on the Hive ship." Carson hoped his muffled voice was clear enough. He didn't want to have to repeat. And surely she didn't need to hear about what happened after they were on the Hive ship. The others would have told her already of the deaths of his remaining patients.

"Carson?" A hand touched his shoulder, and he jumped all the way to the back of the chair.

Kate was standing right in front of him. He hadn't heard her move.

She stepped back at once. "I'm sorry, Carson. I shouldn't—I didn't mean to surprise you."

"It's all right," he sighed.

She sat back down. "Carson. It's important for you to know: it's _not_ your fault."

He stared at her in disbelief.

She sat down and stared back.

"Have you ever treated rape victims, Carson?"

She couldn't. She wouldn't. He wouldn't answer. He wouldn't permit this twisting of what he'd done.

"I'll take that as a yes. You _know_ ; you've probably told them yourself. It's not their fault!"

"That's right," Carson said with a coldness that now seemed to infect his entire body. He looked at the floor, because he knew what he'd see on her face. "It's not a rape victim's fault. She hasn't done anything to deserve it. I did _everything_ to deserve this. I'm only sorry so many other...people...." His throat closed up. He couldn't talk anymore. It wasn't tears. It was more like exhaustion. The numbness was back in full force, if numbness could be said to have force.

He could hear Kate taking in a long, slow breath. "We need to talk more about this, Carson, and we will," she said. "But right now, as I said, we have a...potential threat. We need to know, if we can, what...Michael might have learned from you."

He studied the floor. In so many ways, Atlantis looked just a like a building on Earth, really.

"Carson? Look at me." He didn't, but she went on. "Maybe they did take the information on the...virus. But if so, they took it against your will."

"I wouldn't know," he whispered. "I can't remember." Or was it simply that he still didn't want to remember?

"I'm not an _expert_ on hypnosis...." Kate started.

His head jerked up of its own accord. "You can...?" He had known that she could hypnotize. He had forgotten. He wondered why.

"I can try," she said. She looked at her watch openly. "I'm running late, and you're—I think you're running on empty," she said with a little smile. "I have a meeting now. You need a break. But I don't think this can wait long. You need to know, and Atlantis needs any information we can get." She fidgeted with her fingers for a moment, twisting them, something she hardly ever did. "I'm sorry, Carson. I think it's entirely possible we'll find something we don't want to find."

"But it's better to know," he said, and he hoped he meant it.

She nodded. "The other thing is, I don't want you to get your hopes up. I'm not...the best hypnotist. I've done a little of it, and I did some brushing up after I took this assignment." She grimaced and looked away. "Apparently, the SGC has needed hypnosis several times over the years, and they thought the psychologist out here should be able to do it reasonably well. I'm not sure I'm up to their standards, though."

She looked at Carson again, her face soft with a compassion that he couldn't bear. He looked at the floor.

"I've never hypnotized someone...who has been attacked by Wraith before."

Of course not. They didn't survive.

"But we can give it a try this afternoon. I need a little time...to prepare. I don't think you should be alone for the time being," she said, standing, so Carson stood too. "I hope you don't mind, but I don't think you're ready to go back to work yet, either."

Ah. Suicide watch it was. He had no intention of killing himself, but she'd be bound to take preventive measures no matter what he said. So he didn't say anything.

"I heard you don't want to stay in the infirmary."

He shook his head.

"But you really shouldn't be alone, and I'm sorry we... I should have talked to you yesterday. I didn't realize.... How about Rodney McKay? He's your best friend, isn't he?"

She was already rising, picking up her comm from her desk where she set it during sessions.

"No," he finally managed to squeeze out. "Rodney's been through enough. I'm certain he wants to work. Don't bother him." Let him forget the Wraith, if he could. Being around Carson wouldn't help.

Kate frowned. "I don't think he'd see it as bothering him." But she didn't seem to want to argue with him. "Who would you like me to call?"

Carson shrugged.

Which was also a mistake, because that was how he ended up being escorted back to his quarters by Ronon Dex. He was privy to the whole brief conversation between Kate and Ronon, so he knew there weren't any special instructions. She didn't tell Ronon to take away any sharp objects, or shoelaces, or belts from his quarters. So not a full-blown suicide watch, after all.

Ronon turned the wrong way almost right away, then turned around when Carson stopped and stared at his back. "You comin'? I know it's a little early for lunch, but you look like you need it."

Carson felt the slightest urge to laugh, like a little tickle. Lunch was the last thing he needed right now.

"I thought I'd try to get a little more sleep," Carson said.

"So you haven't been getting enough?" Ronon asked.

It was a reasonable question, perhaps, but Carson had no idea how to answer. How much sleep did he need? How much had he gotten while Michael wasn't sucking the life and mind out of him? How much could the half-Wraith have learned without taking more than a year or less off Carson's life? Had the fact that Michael hadn't yet fully reverted to Wraith slowed him down a little? A lot?

Ronon's hand was on his shoulder, but he managed not to jump. "Come on. Food." Carson was tugged inexorably down the hallway.

People were staring at him in the mess hall, he was sure. He tried to keep his eyes on his tray. He wasn't sure if they felt pity for him, anger at him, or some mix. He didn't want either. He wanted to disappear.

"Carson!" A hand was on his back, and he jumped nearly out of his seat. "Sorry! Didn't mean to startle you!" Laura Cadman. Oh, not now. Pity, definitely. "How are you feeling?" She dropped into a chair next to him.

"He hasn't been talking much," Ronon offered.

Carson looked at him. Ronon had a very dry wit, and Carson couldn't be sure if he was being funny or serious. He looked back at his soup. He'd better eat some of it. Ronon was watching. He glanced at Laura.

She touched his arm, very gently. "Hey, I'm sorry.... I just wanted to see how you were doing." She looked at him, sitting too close. "I want to be sure you're all right."

Carson stared at his food some more. He didn't want to lie to her. But what could he say? "I'll get back to you on that," he finally told her. Maybe after he remembered things he'd feel better.

She laughed. He hadn't even been trying to joke. She stood again. "You do that, okay?" She leaned in to say in his ear, "If you don't, I'll sic McKay on you. Don't think I won't."

Carson tried to smile, but he knew from the way the smile fell off her face it wasn't working, so he went back to his meal.

They had just left the mess hall when they ran into Rodney and Radek heading towards it.

"Carson." Radek nodded to him.

"Hey, Carson!" Rodney seemed a little too loud, as usual. "How was—how did—I mean—"

"Eloquent as usual," Radek said in a low tone.

"Hey! I resent that! I can be perfectly—"

Carson started away, knowing his guard would follow.

"Hey! Where ya going? You ate already?"

"Yep," Ronon answered for them both.

Rodney ran a few steps to catch up with Carson. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly. "And is Ronon, like, assigned to you or something?"

"Aye," Carson said, not breaking stride. He really wanted to lie down now. It was all he wanted.

Rodney kept pace with Carson and started to ask another question, but Ronon growled, "He needs rest," and Rodney stopped dead.

Carson kept walking.

 

Carson had finally remembered to put his watch on. Ronon flipped through a couple of books, paced the room, and generally made it impossible to pretend he was alone.

"Look," he said, sitting up after fifty-five minutes.

"I'm keeping you from sleeping. Sorry. I'll just sit quietly." Ronon immediately sprawled in a chair.

"But you must be bored out of your skull," Carson said.

"I'm used to it." He paused. "Maybe I'll meditate." He grinned hugely.

Carson didn't get the joke. "Look, I really don't think you need to stay."

"Heightmeyer said you shouldn't be alone."

"Fine," Carson said. At least Ronon wasn't trying to make him talk. He curled up on his right side, where he couldn't see his babysitter.

He couldn't hear him either. At first it felt kind of creepy. He thought of the security detail. Morrison. Blake. Wojda. Ahumibe. All silenced now, all dead. Presumably sucked dry by the Wraith. He hoped it hadn't taken too long. Wait—they'd all known about the failsafe, but Michael had still needed to learn about it from him. That meant they'd had to kill them quickly, maybe even with guns, not feeding on them. That was a little better, anyway.

But no comfort to their families and their friends. He hadn't counted any of them among his own friends, but he'd seen them all, in his infirmary and out of it. Karl Wojda was still working on his English, but he was getting really good at it. He joked that soon he'd have less accent than Carson did. Carson had told him that the Americans were the ones with the funny accents. Karl had laughed. Dibia Ahumibe loved the water, loved Atlantis; he told Carson his first name meant "healer," and he'd been training as a medic. He was a quick learner. He seemed to take to Atlantis much as Carson did. He had still been uncertain how much he could do; his gene wasn't very strong. But that gene allowed him to feel the city, and he said once he felt it singing to him, like a mother to a baby. Carson wished he had talked to the man more.

Tired, so tired. He was adrift. But someone was watching; it wasn't safe—

Carson jumped and turned, falling off the narrow bed, and there was someone standing over him. He scooted back for a moment before realizing that Wraith were much paler than the figure above.

"Bad dream, Doc?" Ronon smiled a little, offered him a hand up.

Carson forced himself to accept the hand and sat back down on the bed. "Yeah. Thanks." He looked at his watch. "Kate said 4:00, right?"

Ronon chuckled. "Kate said 1600. She's more military than you."

"But she doesn't kill people," Carson said, then stopped. Normally, some part of his brain kept unacceptable thoughts from just spilling out of his mouth. It seemed to have just failed.

Ronon looked confused. "She's lucky. You did what you had to do, Doc. We all did. But you weren't the one killing people."

Carson didn't say anything. He sat on the bed. It wasn't even two yet. More than two hours. What was he supposed to do?

"Well, I won't be sleeping. I might as well go for a walk."

"Sounds good."

Being with Ronon certainly had a big advantage over being with Rodney: Ronon didn't prattle all the time.

They managed to stick to little-traveled hallways, for the most part. Ronon walked next to Carson, and people said a very quick hello and walked on without stopping. If anything, they walked on even faster. Eventually Carson saw Ronon's face and realized the big man was glaring at anyone who came close.

That should be funny, he thought idly.

After they'd been walking a while, Carson's legs began to feel rubbery, and he went out on a balcony and just sat down. They weren't in the dangerous, unexplored areas of the city, but this wasn't a high-traffic area, either. Carson blinked up at the sun. It was usually so bright on Atlantis. The trees had made that planet so shady that it always seemed to be overcast.

"Doc?" Ronon asked, startling Carson. "You okay?"

Carson shook his head but forced himself to put on a little cheer. "I will be. I...I hope this hypnosis works."

Ronon nodded thoughtfully. "You want me there for that? Or McKay?"

Carson shook his head. "I'm sure Kate will...record it. Probably videotape. Security concerns, you know." He hadn't thought about it until Ronon asked.

Ronon shook his head. "Not what I mean. You know, if you want anybody there, we're there. Anybody you want."

"Thanks." And he did feel some gratitude. He hoped it showed.

Carson had hoped to spend the rest of the time in silence, but Ronon started asking him questions, about medicine, about why he was a doctor. It seemed rude not to answer, but Carson really didn't feel like talking about why he was a doctor. He'd betrayed everything that brought him to the profession. The conversation stumbled, but Ronon plowed on; Carson wasn't sure why.

Maybe Ronon was trying to help him not think about what was coming. He had to remember. Maybe then he would know what to feel.

And then it was time, and Ronon walked him back to Kate's office, and put a hand on his shoulder—slowly, with his arm visible at all times. As if Carson might jump if he didn't see it coming. Which was probably true.

"Just call one of us when you're done, or if you need us," Ronon said gruffly, and Carson wasn't sure whether he was talking to him or to Kate, but Kate nodded.

"Have you ever been hypnotized before?" she asked once they were seated.

"A few times. Medical school, when I was studying psychology. They said I was a good subject."

"That's good," Kate said.

"Easy" was actually how Carson had been described as a hypnosis subject. Good practice for nervous students. But he was afraid he'd been all too easy for Michael. It would be good to know, either way. At least, that was what he told himself.

Kate was videotaping it. She told him that she'd keep strict control of the recording. Doctor Weir and Colonel Sheppard would see it if need be. No one else. Not Caldwell. No copy would go to the SGC. She'd destroy it when they had done all they needed with it. He thought that knowledge should make a difference to him, but it didn't.

He really wasn't nervous, he realized. Maybe he'd gone so far through nervous he'd come out the other side. Remembering could hardly be as bad as what really happened, or even as bad as not remembering. He was calm about this. He could do this.

"All right, Carson. I'm going to start now. Are you comfortable closing your eyes right now?" Her voice was gentle, soothing.

She worked on relaxation and imagery. She told him over and over he was safe. And he felt safe. Nothing unexpected. He'd done this before.

He could feel his hands and chest tightening up as she finally asked him to remember being on the planet, and she talked him through it, worked on relaxing him again, until he could remember without stiffening up.

He remembered the autopsy. He remembered going back to where they'd found Lathan's body. He remembered realizing that all the security detail must be dead.

And remembering came with a burst of pain he'd not felt in days, except for those few twinges earlier. Kate talked him through it, helped him put it aside, "just for now," to get through to the crucial moments.

He became detached again and stayed that way. It wasn't that hard, really. He'd been detached since he'd gotten on the Hive ship. It wasn't that different from hypnosis. Everything, and everyone, seemed to be at some remove.

He remembered Michael talking about empathy, about how Carson's empathy would help him invade Carson's mind. He remembered hearing Michael's voice inside his head, not just in his ears.

And then....Then he remembered hands on him. He'd been too drained even to flinch, but they were friendly hands. And a Jumper. Later they were on the Hive ship, where he'd actually managed to walk and stand and notice what was going on for a few minutes. Then they fired on the camp from orbit, and then they'd had to run, and he couldn't remember very much for a while again.

Wait. There was supposed to be more in there. Kate took him back again, back to the tent, with Michael. He remembered finding himself in restraints. He remembered Michael's voice in his head. Then Sheppard's team, and a Jumper....

Kate brought him out of hypnosis gently and slowly, with suggestions that he should feel more at peace. A little bit of him rebelled at that, because he knew he didn't deserve peace after what he'd done, but he didn't voice that thought.

"Open your eyes," she said at last.

He did. He couldn't read disappointment on her face. Had he lost the ability to read people at some point?

"It's not there," he said, puzzled.

Her mouth crinkled up a little. "It looks like you're right," she said. "But you know hypnosis doesn't always work the first time. We can try again tomorrow."

"But there's nothing there," he repeated dully. "How can it not be there?" True, he hadn't wanted to remember at first. But they needed the information, he knew that, and he was trying to remember. He really was.

"We don't know how Wraith feeding works," she told him, unnecessarily. "And Michael—Michael was different. His abilities may have been affected by the retrovirus still, or by his experience of being human. Or he may have been deliberately preventing you from forming memories in some way. He seemed to want to keep you alive; he clearly didn't feed on you very much, though he had you there for several hours, at least."

A ghastly new thought entered Carson's mind. "Did he plant any suggestions? Would I have remembered those?"

Kate shook her head. "I think we should try again, in case, but I doubt it. You don't feel any strange compulsions, do you?" She smiled, as if the question weren't serious.

"I don't feel any compulsions at all," he replied. Not to eat, not to work, not to talk. Not to do anything at all.

Some part of him was disturbed that he didn't want to do anything. But it wasn't an awfully strong part. If he could remember everything, would he want to do things again? Or was it so bad that remembering would only make things worse? Either way, he really needed to get it over with.

Kate was frowning at him. "I'm going to send you back to the infirmary, just in case," she said. "It's just possible there was some kind of physical injury; that can prevent memories from forming. As you know. You don't remember falling, or being hit on the head, or anything like that?"

"No. And I don't have any bruises. Not like that." He had that patch on his chest that didn't look right, and his wrists had been abraded when he fought the restraints, but nothing that would indicate a fall.

She called the infirmary and told them he was coming, and then she called Rodney.

Carson didn't want to go back to the infirmary. It reminded him too much of what he had been, and what he was supposed to be. He'd killed far too many people. He wasn't really a doctor at all. And he didn't know why everyone was being so nice to him.

Was he supposed to make small talk with her while he waited for his escort?

"Carson!" Rodney appeared at the door very quickly, just moments after she'd called him. Rodney smiled and nodded at Kate, and Carson followed him out.

"How'd it go? I thought you'd be out...earlier."

Carson shrugged.

"You know, this not talking thing is getting really...." Rodney trailed off. "You got a sore throat or something?"

"No, Rodney. Just...no new memories came back. Only what little I already remembered."

"Oh. Well, at least you know you weren't confabulating."

Confabulating? Carson frowned at Rodney. Rodney hardly believed in _medicine_ ; what did he know about hypnosis?

"That's what it's called, right?" Rodney said hurriedly, his hands moving wildly. "I did a little research. I mean, I never believed in hypnosis before, and I've never done it, never had it done, so I figured, maybe I ought to look it up, see what was involved."

Carson nodded.

"Are you doing that to freak me out?" Rodney asked. "Because it's working!"

Carson looked at Rodney. "I just don't feel much like talking."

"Oh." Rodney nodded dubiously. "I guess I know how that feels."

Carson didn't have any reply to that.

"What? I just gave you the perfect opening, and you didn't _take_ it? Are you feeling all right?"

Carson told him, "I'm beginning to feel a mite irritated."

"Oh. Okay. I guess that's good."

It might be better than completely numb. He wasn't sure.

"I'm supposed to go to the infirmary. They want to do some more scans." He couldn't remember if Kate had told Rodney where he was going.

"Right! Okay. I can, I can walk you there." They started walking. "So what was it like?"

What was what like? Knowing that he'd failed horrifically? Being questioned by Michael?

Rodney must have read his uncertainty—when did Rodney get to be better at reading people than Carson?—for he clarified, "Hypnosis! I mean the hypnosis! She didn't dangle a watch or anything, right? They don't really do that much nowadays, I read."

"No, she didn't. It's not very effective for most people."

"Oh. So what _did_ she do?"

Carson sighed.

"Well, it's not like you have anything better to talk about on your way to the infirmary," Rodney said. "I mean...how did it work? How do you, you know, feel?"

Change the subject. "Were you waiting for me?"

Rodney shrugged. "I figured you'd be done any time now." He frowned and looked at his watch. "I just waited a little bit."

"Why?"

"Why?" Rodney glowered at him as they stepped into the transporter. "Oh, I don't know! Maybe because you were held prisoner for something like two days by a life-sucking monster? What, I need a better reason than that?"

"Maybe you should get yourself checked in the infirmary too," Carson said, frowning. "I know they didn't feed on you, but you were under awfully rough conditions...."

"No! What, you think there has to be something _wrong_ with me for me to worry about anyone other than myself?" Now he sounded hurt.

"No, Rodney. I just...." The transporter door opened, and they weren't far from the infirmary. People were in the hallway. Carson dropped his gaze to the floor and followed Rodney out of the transporter.

"What? You just what? Okay, I know I'm not exactly Mister Sensitivity—"

"You got that right," a voice said from behind them, and Rodney swung around.

"Hey! I heard that! And I'll remember it!" He turned and hissed to Carson, "What's that guy's name?"

Carson didn't bother to look.

Rodney abandoned him at the door of the infirmary, saying he'd given at the office, and Carson was actually a little sorry to see him go. He wasn't sure why. Soon enough, Kellie was arranging his scans, making sure he was comfortable. Taking more care than normal.

Unusually, they analyzed the scans while he waited, and they even showed him his own scans and asked his opinion. Nothing abnormal showed on the scans, though. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. If there had been something physically wrong, maybe they could have unlocked those memories. He rather wanted them now. They might be bad, but they were his.

Or maybe they could have found a way out of his numbness, because it was actually starting to disturb him a little. Kellie offered him a sleeping pill, but he was afraid that he would only sink deeper into this state he seemed to be in. He declined.

Teyla was waiting for him at the door to the infirmary. She didn't even pretend she was doing anything else there.

"Taking it in shifts?" he asked, trying to make conversation.

"Pardon?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"We thought you might like to come have dinner with us," Teyla said, leading the way, and he followed.

"I cannot tell you how relieved we were to find you on that planet," she told him as they entered the transporter with someone else. One of the Marines, he thought. Johnson? Johnston?

"Carson?" He looked at her. Teyla didn't often use his first name, preferring to use his title. "We were very concerned."

"I made it." He shrugged.

"Yes," she said slowly, drawing the words out. "But you are clearly not yourself."

"As has already been pointed out to me." By Rodney and Kate. Ronon just looked at him funny.

"We are...still concerned."

He managed a smile. "And I appreciate it."

They walked down the hallway to the mess hall.

"Doctor McKay told me the hypnosis did not work. Did the scans show anything unusual?"

He shook his head. "All within normal parameters."

"That's good," she said tentatively.

How many conversations like this could he endure? He really ought to appreciate the time they were spending with him, but it just made him feel...weak. Useless. He should be working, not having the best people in Atlantis babysitting him. But he couldn't work.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not good company right now."

"I understand," she said as they queued.

Of course she did.

"Then why do you and the others insist on keeping me company?" he huffed. "Oh, right. Kate's orders."

Teyla scowled. She pointed to a serving tray half full of food. "What _is_ that?"

Carson bent foward to look closely. "Goulash. I think it's supposed to be goulash."

"Is that good?"

"I doubt it."

"It's all we got left," said someone else.

"Goulash it is, then," Teyla said as they each collected a serving. "Is that not a word for...dead things?" she asked tentatively. "Or frightening things?"

Ghoulish, she meant. But Carson didn't feel like voicing the word.

She led him to a table already occupied by Sheppard, Rodney, and Ronon, who seemed already to have eaten.

Carson sank a fork into his goulash. Was it supposed to be this gray? He hadn't had any appetite before. He now had less than no appetite. But he shoveled something into his mouth and managed not to gag. It was better than talking.

"Doctor Beckett's scans showed nothing of interest," Teyla reported.

Were they always in his business this much? Did he just not notice most of the time?

"Is that good or bad?" Rodney asked.

They were all looking at him. He concentrated on getting more goulash down.

"People on your world choose to eat this?" Teyla asked after another long silence, and the others answered. Carson finally managed to force down what he thought they might consider a decent amount. He set his fork aside.

"You done with that?" Ronon asked, and the other two men groaned.

"Have mine," Teyla said, pushing her plate in front of him and wiping her mouth with a napkin. "I am finished."

Carson pushed his over as well. They didn't stare at Teyla. They stared at him.

Carson rose from the table and walked away, fast. Rodney ran after him.

"Hey, don't you want somebody with you?"

"I think I've had as much company as I can take, thank you very much," Carson answered tightly.

"Well, Kate thinks you need more." Rodney stayed next to him.

Carson walked in silence, ignoring whatever it was Rodney was saying; it was surprisingly easy to do. Why hadn't he ever been able to do that before? He reached his quarters. He didn't make it in before Rodney made it through the door, which was too bad. Then again, Rodney could doubtless have overridden any attempt to lock the door anyway.

Carson sat down at his computer to avoid conversation. There was e-mail in his inbox. He read through it, a piece at a time, not remembering any of them after he'd closed them. He didn't answer them. He wasn't cleared to be working anyway.

"Chess?" Rodney said suddenly, and only when he broke the silence did Carson realize that Rodney had stopped talking. He wasn't sure when.

Carson went to brush his teeth. It was a waste of time, but so was anything else he might do, and it won him a few minutes of privacy. It was the longest he'd ever brushed his teeth. He let Rodney badger him into a game of chess, but he lost quickly, and Rodney was annoyed at that, so he announced he was turning in.

Rodney radioed Sheppard to bring a sleeping bag. Was he was supposed to stay in Carson's quarters at all times to make sure he didn't do anything drastic? In that case, he shouldn't have left him alone in the washroom so long. Or did he call Sheppard because he could? Sheppard probably felt he'd have to comply.

Sheppard showed up with a sleeping bag and a funny look on his face.

"Oh!" Rodney said. "I forgot my pajamas! Can you go back—"

"If he talks too much, Doc? Just call me." He grinned. "I'll take care of that."

Rodney continued to demand his pajamas by radio after Sheppard had left. Carson went back into the lav and took a long time to change into his own pajamas. He came out to find Rodney soliloquizing about pajamas and Air Force colonels. He climbed into bed and thought the lights out, hoping it would stop Rodney's tirade.

"Hey!" Rodney shouted, but he didn't turn the lights back on. Rodney sighed and stomped his way over to the lav. Eventually he stomped his way back over to his sleeping bag and complained about sleeping on the floor.

"Carson?" There was a long pause. "You awake?"

A few minutes later, Rodney began to snore, and Carson found himself strangely comforted. It was a nice counterpart to the soothing but inhuman thrum of Atlantis.

But the comfort faded as he thought about the man in the infirmary he'd made _human_ , from a Wraith, only to be sucked dry by the Queen. He'd thought she'd just let him revert. That Wraith was one of her own people. He had served her. And she'd fed on him. He should have known. Doctor Weir knew. She had said something like "we knew this was part of the bargain." Carson should have known. He knew what Wraith were. It was why he'd created the retrovirus in the first place.

Why did he ever think he could really change them? But if he could, why should he have the right to decide who became human and who remained Wraith? Who lived and who died? Who was devoured and who fed?

What had Michael taken from him? Why couldn't he remember? Was it because he hadn't wanted to do? If he wanted it badly enough, he should remember, shouldn't he?

He started to fall asleep, only to feel something touching his chest. When he jerked away and became tangled, he realized it was just a bunched-up bit of blanket. Rodney's snoring broke for a moment, then resumed.

Carson pulled on some clothes in the dark and went for a long walk. He saw few people, and apparently they didn't know he wasn't supposed to be about. That was thoughtful of them. Keep the suicide watch a private matter, in case he ever did resume his post.

He couldn't walk away from his thoughts, but at least with the lights in the hallways, he didn't feel like Michael was watching over him. Right at this moment, he didn't have to try to recall the things he didn't know. He didn't remember the security detail quite so vividly, didn't imagine how their bodies must have looked. He didn't see the faces of the former Wraith, the ones who'd still trusted him, or the ones who had started to revert. The artificial city was a welcome contrast to the forested planet. And when his legs were tired, and dawn was near, he took the nearest transporter and went back to his quarters. Rodney was still asleep.

 

Carson's whole body shuddered as he woke suddenly to shouting. He must have fallen asleep at some point.

"When the hell did you get dressed?" Rodney screeched. "How did I not notice? What did you do last night?" He was standing at the foot of the bed, hands on hips. His hair stuck out in all directions.

Carson rubbed at his eyes.

"When the _hell_ —"

Carson raised a hand. "I dunno. Sometime in the night."

"To do _what_?" Rodney looked really angry.

"Walk. Just went for a walk. I didn't kill myself, obviously."

The little bed shook as Rodney suddenly deposited himself on the end of it. "You didn't _what_?" he asked in a whisper.

"I didn't kill myself."

"Why would you even _think_ about doing that?" Rodney had the same hushed tone of horror with which he'd described the Wraith cocoon.

"I'm on suicide watch," Carson said stupidly. Did Rodney think he didn't know? If Rodney didn't know, why was he so upset about not noticing when Carson went out?

"You are? Why? Are you gonna kill yourself? Oh, my God!" His voice climbed higher and higher. "And I slept through you getting dressed, and leaving the room—how the hell did I do that? Sheppard says I've gotten to be pretty good—why didn't anyone tell _me_ you were on suicide watch? _I_ was the one who said I'd spend the night here, and nobody _told_ me! They just said you should have company! I thought you might want to _talk_! You could have—Heightmeyer should have told me! Or Sheppard! Whoever knew!"

Carson watched Rodney with amazement. Could he have so forgotten his own people skills that he couldn't tell when Rodney was lying? Rodney certainly looked sincere.

Now Rodney stared at him suspiciously. "Are you _sure_ you're on suicide watch?"

"That's why you're not to leave me alone," Carson explained lamely. Apparently, Rodney truly hadn't known. An IQ that high, he should have figured it out.

"Are you really going to try to kill yourself? Did you take any drugs? No, they wouldn't let you. Let me see your wrists." Rodney lunged across the bed and grabbed Carson's wrists roughly.

Carson hissed. They still hurt.

"Ow. Ow! That's gotta hurt," Rodney said, verbalizing for him as he let go of the still-healing wrists. "That's, that's just from the restraints, right?"

"I'm not going to kill myself," Carson said. The burning in his wrists faded again.

"Then why are you on suicide watch?" Rodney asked in apparent perplexity. "Because Kate _thinks_ you're gonna kill yourself? Oh, I thought she was better than that! I mean, I talk to her all the time, because I thought she knew what she was doing! Well, not _all_ the time. Just once in a while. And yesterday. Yesterday, I had—I—" He blinked. "You want breakfast?"

Carson sat there wondering if he had lost his own sanity, or if Rodney's was slipping away. He was pretty sure at least one of them wasn't making sense.

"Hey! I gotta pee!" Rodney took the toilet before Carson could get off the bed.

After Carson was ready, Rodney dragged Carson to his own quarters and then made him wait while he showered and put on fresh clothes. It seemed fair enough, and Carson didn't have anywhere better to be.

Carson followed Rodney to a table already occupied by John Sheppard, who was fiddling with a data pad.

"Why the _hell_ didn't you tell me he's on suicide watch?" Rodney hissed to Sheppard.

At least he didn't shout.

Sheppard looked at Rodney as though he were certifiable, then at Carson, then back at Rodney. "He is? Nobody told me. You on suicide watch, Doc?"

Carson looked at his porridge. "Thought I was. But maybe Kate would've told you if I was. And I don't know why Rodney got so upset he missed my evening walk if he didn't know...."

Rodney had some answer for that, but Carson couldn't be bothered to pay attention. The porridge looked quite stiff this morning. He wondered if he could stand his spoon up in it. He tried, but it fell over.

"You're not doing that right. Here." Rodney reached over and put the spoon so it looked as though it was standing straight up, but the bowl of the spoon was really resting against the side of the bowl. He grinned broadly.

"Did he lose some marbles at your place last night, Doc?" Sheppard indicated Rodney with his head.

Then Rodney replied, and there was a lot of back and forth, but Carson had no interest in following. He did manage to eat some of his porridge. He knew he wasn't going anywhere until he did.

After breakfast, Teyla came and told him she wanted to brush up on her first-aid skills. It was the most transparent excuse for keeping him company he could imagine. At least he hadn't had to endure Rodney _or_ Sheppard asking _her_ why they hadn't been told he was on suicide watch, so he went to the infirmary with her and watched her revive and bandage a dummy until lunchtime. The staff seemed happy to see him and rushed to get them whatever he asked. He didn't deserve their loyalty. He shouldn't even be in this place of healing.

Teyla kept asking him if she was doing things right, asking "what if" questions about other, increasingly unlikely, medical problems. Making him talk. He knew what she was doing, and on some level, he appreciated it. But mostly, he didn't care.

Ronon had Carson duty for the afternoon again, except when he was in Elizabeth's office. He spent most of that time wondering what he was doing there. He couldn't tell her anything the others hadn't told her. He told her so.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am, Carson, about what happened to you," she said, coming around her desk to sit in the chair next to him. "And I'm really sorry I couldn't talk with you sooner—Woolsey...." She rolled her eyes.

He had no idea what she was talking about. "At least I'm still alive," he said, looking at his hands. The men on the security team weren't. And a good hundred people at various places along the human/Wraith continuum.

"Ye-es," she said haltingly. "But—I'm sorry we ever put you in that position."

He shook his head. "You didn't put me in that position. I put myself there." His wrists were already looking better than yesterday, really.

"And we—we appreciate all you've been through, for Atlantis." She put a hand on his arm, slowly, and he managed not to start. "Carson?" Her voice sounded worried. "Kate told me the first hypnosis session didn't really accomplish much. She hasn't—she hasn't told me much. She's protecting your privacy, of course. And I don't mean to make you tell me anything you don't wish to. I just want you to know that you have our support. And if you need some more time, you need it. Oh, and we've made sure you won't have to talk to Woolsey."

He looked up at her. Elizabeth looked tired and worried. He almost asked her "more time for what?", but he supposed she meant more time before he resumed his post. He didn't want to add to her worries right now by telling her he couldn't do that. He was pretty sure he should remember who Woolsey was, so he didn't ask.

"Thanks," he said, and excused himself.

Ronon had a few suggestions for how they could spend the rest of the afternoon. They all sounded dreadful. Carson just stared at him. "Don't you have other things that need doing?"

Ronon shrugged. "Naw."

Ultimately, they spent most of the afternoon in Carson's quarters. Carson pretended to read; he wondered a bit about what had happened on the planet, trying to sneak up on the memories, as it were.

Ronon pretended not to be watching Carson. He started to play with his knives but put them away quickly when Carson flinched. Carson finally pulled up a game for Ronon that Rodney had put on his computer. Rodney and Colonel Sheppard had decided at some point that he needed _Bioshock_. Rodney had bragged insufferably about knowing one of the developers and getting the game early. He'd tried to show Carson how to play, but Carson had been furious when he saw the game. He'd said he had enough underwater crises and genetic manipulation in real life, and he'd ended that lesson pretty damned quickly. And with a few bad words. So he couldn't teach Ronon how to play, but he figured Ronon would pick it up pretty fast.

He was right. By the time Ronon had left him with Kate, Carson was thinking that he'd rather have Ronon throw knives _at_ him than endure him playing _Bioshock_ any longer. Maybe Carson should have played. Maybe he'd have had more second thoughts about genetic manipulation, before it was too late.

Kate greeted him with a guilty look, and he didn't understand why.

"I suppose I should have been clearer about what was going on," she said apologetically after they sat down. Before he said anything. "Yes, I suppose I did put you on a modified suicide watch. I—I didn't feel the need to use that term. With you or your friends. Who have all come by individually to give me hell." She rolled her eyes and smiled. "I guess we don't need a suicide watch of any kind?"

"I'm not going to kill myself," Carson told her honestly. He thought of adding that he'd momentarily considered it while Ronon was on his computer, but that wouldn't be a good thing to say.

"But you're...what? Tell me what you're feeling. What you're thinking."

"I thought we were going to try hypnosis again." He needed it. He really did need to know what had happened.

Kate smiled some more. "We have plenty of time for that. I think we need to talk first."

Carson shrugged. "I haven't felt much like talking."

"But there's a lot going through your mind right now."

At this moment? Almost nothing. He was so tired. He said so.

"You haven't been sleeping well?" She took his silence for assent. "We can give you something for that, you know." She uncrossed her legs, crossed them the other way. "It's not at all surprising, considering what you've been through."

"What I've done. What I've caused," Carson corrected.

And then, of course, they had the mandatory conversation again about how Carson couldn't take responsibility for everything, that a lot of other people had made choices, and how Carson's own choices had been very much constrained. Carson didn't say a lot.

Kate ran out of steam pretty quickly and suggested they give hypnosis another go. Carson agreed.

She took him through the same relaxation. It did seem a little easier this time. And he tried his hardest. Yet the results were the same. Carson could remember how the restraints felt on his wrists, how his legs were secured. The damp, almost moldy smell that permeated the camp. The haar, the cold mist that felt like it was coming off the sea though only a small lake lay nearby. How cold it was in that tent. And then nothing. He could remember Michael talking. He could hear the human/Wraith's voice in his head. But he couldn't remember the words. And he couldn't remember answering, out loud or in his mind. He had no sense of how long the interrogation had taken. He had no mental images, either of Michael after the voice came into his head, or of anything he'd thought during that time. He needed it, wanted it, but it wasn't there—like a movie with the crucial reel missing. He only had the beginning and the end.

Kate brought him out slowly, telling him that he was leaving his guilt and his fear back on the planet, and part of him wished he could, but part of him held onto them tightly.

At last he opened his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, feeling thick. "I just don't know. I have no idea what I might have given him."

"Carson," she said, "you didn't _give_ him anything. Whatever he took, he took against your will. And that might be why you can't remember: the event was too traumatic."

Carson didn't follow the logic.

"Are you feeling a little more relaxed now?"

Carson nodded. Relaxed. Detached. He was ready. He could handle the memories. He _needed_ to handle them, to pull them out and _feel_ them. Maybe then he could feel other things again too.

"Are you ready to talk some more?"

Carson fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. He usually didn't wear it on the station. He was generally warm enough in just a t-shirt, but he'd been cold lately.

"You're wearing your jacket," Kate noted.

Sharp as a tack, he thought.

"You told me it was cold on the planet. Do you still feel cold?"

He nodded.

Kate waited. Then she sighed. "Carson, if you're not ready to talk, there's not much point in doing anything more today."

That was true. "Oh. All right."

Kate winced visibly. She hadn't expected him to agree, apparently. "Okay. Tomorrow, then? One more go at hypnosis, maybe?"

She reminded him that she couldn't do anything without his cooperation. He agreed. She hoped he'd be more willing to talk at their next session. He agreed. She let him go by himself, but Teyla showed up at his quarters not much later to drag him to another dinner. He managed to participate in the conversation a little. He couldn't remember it later. Sheppard came to dinner eventually, but he hadn't taken a turn at Carson-sitting. Carson wondered if he was angry that he'd opposed him killing the people on the planet, or disgusted that Carson couldn't pull himself together.

Finally Carson _was_ allowed to be alone for the night. He got into bed, turned out the lights. Lay there for a few minutes. He remembered lying on that gurney. He turned the lights back on and got out of bed. He had an article on his computer he'd been reading from the latest _Journal of the American Medical Association_. He sat down and tried to read it, but it was hard to focus. He started over.

And there was pressure on his wrists, and he jumped up, bringing up the lights that had gone out at some point after he'd fallen asleep, but he couldn't see anyone. He'd probably just shifted and scraped his wrists. He looked around, just in case.

"Hello?" he called. He checked the lav. No one. He went out onto the balcony. No one. He looked behind and around and even furniture. No one. Just his imagination. Maybe the ever-present city. Did he belong here anymore? After what he'd done with the city's gifts, with all he'd learned here? Maybe he was losing his mind. That seemed fitting.

He looked back at the computer. He must have gotten a good two hours sleep. Or a bad two hours sleep. His neck ached; he'd let his head fall onto the table. He climbed back into bed, but he left the lights on.

He didn't sleep much more that night, but at least he didn't dream, as far as he could remember. He kept starting awake, but the hum of Atlantis soothed him back to sleep this night. Finally the sunlight came into the room, and he figured he could get up now.

He went to brush his teeth, and he was struck again by the futility of it all.

Sick of his quarters, he reckoned it couldn't hurt to swing by the infirmary. He didn't intend to do any work there. He just had nowhere else to go. And his staff were still being nice to him. He could be nice back.

"Well, you're up early!" Biro greeted him cheerfully, finishing up the night shift she never seemed to mind taking. "Are you supposed to be here? I thought you weren't on active duty again yet. I suppose you can't resist checking up on us, can you?"

"I'm not checking up on you," Carson said, looking around. The infirmary was quiet; he couldn't see a single patient. "I just...."

Biro grinned at him. "Eager to get back to your research?"

"No!" Carson stepped back.

Biro's hands fluttered in the air for a moment and her mouth worked. That woman could be as dense as Rodney McKay. But it wasn't her fault. He was sure she hadn't meant the retrovirus research. He just couldn't think of anything else right now.

"Sorry," he said. "Just a bit...jumpy. I just...wanted to drop by. Um, say hello. I'll be off now."

She wished him a cheery goodbye, still looking a bit confused.

"Carson!" Rodney intercepted him outside the infirmary, while he was trying to decide where to go next. Was Rodney tailing him somehow?

"Rodney." He couldn't manage any further greeting.

Rodney scowled at him. "Don't start. I went by your quarters, and you weren't there!"

Don't start? He'd only said the man's name. "I'm here."

"I don't know what you think we're trying to do. We're not actually trying to annoy you. Well, at least not most of the time. It's kind of a habit, so sometimes Sheppard may fall back into it." Rodney was baiting him again. He was supposed to say something. Damned if he knew what. "You want breakfast? I haven't eaten yet. Let's get there before it gets too busy."

Rodney wasn't remarking on the lack of a comeback, so maybe he hadn't been baiting him. Carson couldn't keep up with this. It was all too confusing. He should have taken the sleeping pill people kept offering him.

"So when's your hypnosis today? Can I come along? I've never seen that!" Rodney led him to the transporter. Carson supposed he was allowing himself to be led.

Rodney didn't wait long for an answer. "Is that a no?"

"No, Rodney."

"Is that a no, 'that's not a no,' meaning 'yes,' I can watch? Or no—"

"The latter." Vexation was starting to take the place of the numbness again.

"Oh. Okay. I really didn't think you would. I hope you don't mind my asking. 'Cause I'm just curious, you know." Rodney was bouncing a little on the balls of his feet as they entered the transporter, but he didn't look happy.

"What?" Carson asked.

"What do you mean, what?"

"Is there something you want to say, Rodney?"

Rodney looked immediately at the floor. "No. Well, yes." He did something with the controls. "Are you gonna get upset if I ask you something?" He sat down suddenly, awkwardly, crosslegged on the floor. He must have sent the transporter somewhere obscure.

"Probably." But Carson sat down with him.

"Did Michael turn you into a zombie or something? I mean, you don't have any kind of brain damage, right?"

The worst part was that Rodney looked serious. Of course, he didn't look like he'd been sleeping well either, despite the sleep he'd gotten in Carson's quarters. That had been just the night before last, hadn't it?

"Do I _look_ like a zombie?"

"Yeah." Rodney eyed him critically. "And, you know, I got totally freaked out about being in that cocoon on that Wraith ship. I mean, they were gonna _feed_ on us! _After_ they got to Earth, of course, because they wanted us to witness—And I...it wasn't exactly my finest moment." He was looking at Carson very intently. It made Carson uncomfortable. Rodney had survived horrific things himself, but Rodney wasn't lollygagging, refusing to work.

"But Ronon got me out, and.... Here I am. And I know that having Wraith about to feed on you can freak you out. Totally. And Michael actually _did_ feed—I mean, I understand if he scared you out of your wits. After all, you didn't have as many as me to start with anyway." He offered a grin to soften the insult.

"But somehow, I don't think that's all that's going on here. So. Spill."

Carson tried to summon up a glare.

It had no effect. Rodney continued, "What's wrong with you? You aren't talking, you're hardly eating, and you look like you're not sleeping. And I've seen you do this once before, but even that wasn't bad as this."

Don't say Hoff, Carson thought suddenly, desperately, surprised to find he still had that much feeling in him.

So of course Rodney said, "Hoff. So I think I know what's going on. You don't have to say anything, though you can feel free to nod.

"You...at first you thought this was a good idea. I mean, you totally thought the retrovirus was a good idea in the first place. We all did. Well, except maybe Teyla. And Ronon. We saw Sheppard turn into a bug, and then we saw you turn him back, so it only seemed logical. You could control these changes. The first experiment wasn't perfect, but that's the way science works, right?"

Rodney was calling medicine 'science'? Carson was pretty sure Rodney was trying to make him feel better, but he was having trouble following the rapid stream of words. And he didn't really feel anything.

"Then we had Wraith in orbit and on the damned pier, and we had to get rid of them. You could help save Atlantis, you could take out some Wraith, you could find if the retrovirus really worked. Then we could use it to turn other Wraith human, and _not_ to be fodder for some deranged cannibalistic hive."

The numbness had become paralysis—but now he was starting to feel. Here was his whole horror, spilling out of his best friend's mouth. He knew that, rarely, a patient was paralyzed by anesthetic but could still feel surgery. This must be what it was like.

Rodney winced. "Sorry. Not the best wording, maybe." He shook his head. "You did it for the best of reasons. To save us. And to save some of them, later. I mean, if we could all just be human, we could all just get along, right?"

Carson found his voice. "Let's leave the therapy to Kate Heightmeyer." His voice came out a little rusty, but it came out.

Rodney shrugged. "This isn't therapy; this is just me talking. I'm no shrink. So you had all the right reasons. But then you saw that the retrovirus really did turn them human, and the Wraith really _didn't_ hesitate, and they fed—"

"Stop! Just—shut it!" Carson fought the remaining paralysis and managed to stand. He tried to use the controls when the transporter wouldn't take a mental nudge. Nothing happened. The city had rejected him.

"Locked the controls. Sorry, Carson, but...."

"You _kidnapped_ me?" It was almost a scream. What the hell did Rodney think he was doing?

"No! Not kidnapping! You just have to listen." Rodney's hands waved around uselessly.

"Why not just tie me to a bed?" Carson spat, because suddenly there was no fog, just white-hot anger. "Couldna find one with restraints?"

Rodney jumped to his feet and fumbled with the controls, apologizing at once. "No! No, I'm—Sorry, sorry! This was so stupid, I just thought—you've been so damned passive about everything, I thought if I could get you to listen with nobody else around, to listen in or interrupt, and you couldn't go...." He turned back to Carson. "I'm sorry. Really. It was a stupid idea. I get those sometimes. Where do you wanna go?"

"My quarters." Carson realized he was trembling.

"Okay." And moments later, they were in the right corridor, but Rodney was still walking with him.

"Okay. How about we sit on the balcony and—"

"How about you jump _off_ the balcony!" Carson hissed.

"Not one of my better ideas, I've already admitted that! Look, I'm just trying to help!"

Carson was inside his quarters. But so was Rodney.

"What are you doing here?" He turned to face Rodney. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Hoff," Rodney said again, and he walked to the chair Ronon had sat in the day before. "I remember how you were after that. And I _also_ remember how _I_ was, after Kolya...and after Doranda," he added, settling in the seat. "Do you remember how many times I told you to go away?"

Carson considered leaving, but Rodney would just follow him.

"One person died on Doranda, but it was an accident," Carson told him, taking the few steps to his bed and falling onto it, hunched over at the edge, trying to get his quivering under control. "You mucked up, but you didn't kill anyone. And you didn't—"

"I killed Collins! I could have killed Sheppard," Rodney said, looking at the walls. "And—and I screwed this one up too, okay? You gave them a biological weapon, and I know you think that's a bad thing to do, but it wasn't your idea. We _had_ to do it. We used that weapon, and we used it to _save_ us, and we did the best we could. But me? I let them into our computers! They know exactly where Earth is, they stole technology from us to be able to get there...." His voice rose into those upper pitches that weren't comfortable to hear, and he came up out of his seat. He passed Carson and went to the windows. "I screwed up worst of all! So if anyone has a right to be down on himself, it's me! But you?"

He turned back, his eyes wide, and the fear and hurt on his face were painful to see. Carson felt ashamed for yelling at him.

"You aren't even the same person anymore! And Sheppard and Teyla said to give you time, and Ronon kinda grunted, and Kate won't tell me anything except 'He needs a friend right now'"—he raised his voice a little in a bad imitation of Kate Heightmeyer. Carson thought that might have been funny at another time. "And I know it takes time to get over stuff! But I know you helped me after everything, every damned thing that's gone wrong. I didn't get over them alone. Every damned mistake _I've_ made, and all the things that just...happened. You wouldn't leave me alone, and Sheppard badgered me too, and.... And I'm not very good at helping. But I thought...." He smiled weakly. "I thought maybe I'd get an A for effort?"

His anger was dissolving, Carson found, and now he didn't know what he felt.

"Well? Say something?" Rodney took a step towards the bed, then backed up and raised his arms in a sort of surrender. "I'm really sorry about the kidnapping thing. I didn't...I didn't think." He sighed. "I wish I could promise I won't do anything stupid like that again, but if there's one thing Atlantis has taught me, it's that there are always new depths of stupidity I can dredge."

"Stupidity?" Carson asked, feeling quite thick himself. Rodney was admitting to stupidity. Rodney must be in bad shape.

Rodney plunked himself down on the floor, feet in front of him, knees raised. "Feel free to say something original at any time."

And then he waited. Rodney sat there and waited for Carson to say something. He was jiggling one leg, but he was trying to wait patiently, and Carson felt terrible for making Rodney feel so awful.

"I dunno know what to say," Carson said.

"That's a start." Rodney sat quietly a while longer, but then he couldn't hold it in any longer. "You don't usually have this problem! I mean, usually, I can't shut you up!"

Carson frowned. That hardly seemed fair.

"And your sense of humor seems to have gone on walk-out! Is it striking for fewer hours or better pay or something?" He sighed. "When Sheppard's upset, he's still making jokes. And I joke back. And it makes things better, somehow." He looked over his shoulder, out the window. "I don't know how to make this better."

"I've never felt this way before," Carson admitted.

Rodney's head snapped back around in a way that made Carson's neck ache just watching it. "What way?"

Carson shrugged, but then decided he owed Rodney more than that. "It's like...it's like...depression. I feel numb. With bits of irritation and anger thrown in. But nothing else. And it's as though everybody's far away." His lips turned up on their own, just a little. "Except you, Rodney. I will admit, kidnapping made you seem very close indeed."

"So it wasn't such a bad idea?" Rodney seemed quite cheered at the possibility.

"No. No, it was an absolutely terrible, horrible, appallingly wretched idea."

"Oh. Well, I won't do that again." Rodney smiled a little, looking perhaps for an answering smile.

Carson felt he should laugh, but he wasn't up to it just yet.

"So what do we have to do to change this?" Rodney asked.

"If I knew, I would tell you," Carson said.

"'Cause I'm thinking hypnosis might not work any better the third time."

"No," Carson said, letting himself flop back on the bed. "Probably not. But I'll try." He turned his head enough that he could see Rodney's face. "What you did was not so bad, Rodney," he said. "I mean, I'm not gonna tell you that it's all all right. But Michael canna have had all that technology they stole from us in his mind, and the ship is gone. They've lost that information, even if he survived."

"They never should have had it in the first place," Rodney said tucking his knees up all the way to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. He looked cold, even with the sun coming through the window. He'd said the Wraith ship was cold, Carson remembered. "But thanks. But...if I may...?"

"Canna really stop you, can I?"

"No. I'd stop if you want. But I know what you're thinking."

"You do? Could you let me know? Because it's all a muddle to me." Carson straightened his head to stare up at the ceiling.

"Yeah," Rodney said softly. "I know because we've been through it all before. After Michael—left. That first time. Yeah, doctors aren't supposed to do this stuff. And in an ideal world, they wouldn't. They wouldn't have to.

"But Hippocrates and the Geneva Convention never saw a race of life-sucking monsters whose sole reason for being is to drain as many people dry as they can, who need it to survive and who...just plain seem to get off on it! The Wraith are a mistake. They're not misunderstood. They're _wrong_. We know they're a mistake, the result of human DNA mixing with the Iratus bug, and maybe the Ancients messing around with genetics. It's all a colossal error! They shouldn't even exist!" A motion at the edge of his vision caught his eye, and Carson turned just enough to see Rodney waving his arms impatiently, as if pushing imaginary Iratus bugs away. "It's Wraith against human out here. And millions die every time the Wraith come out. You did that experiment so we wouldn't always have to fight. So maybe, somewhere down the line, everybody could live.

"And when it came down to it, when the fight came to Atlantis, you had to choose. Because if you didn't help, the Wraith would win. They'd have Atlantis, and from here, if they ever took this city, they'd have our whole galaxy.

"And I wish to hell you'd never had to make that choice. But you chose human over Wraith. And I'm damned glad for that."

"But those Wraith who _became_ human—"

Rodney shook his head. "Not your fault. You did everything you could for them. You went above and beyond the call of duty."

"But I _made_ the weapon to do just that! To make Wraith human so Wraith could _eat_ them!" He'd thought, at first, only of Wraith eating Wraith, of enemies killing each other so that Atlantis could survive, and Earth would be safe. But the Wraith _would_ be eating humans, just newly humanized people. And weren't Wraith, after all, people of some sort as well?

Rodney cut through his musings. "No, no!—you were working on the weapon to save us from the Wraith! You wanted it to save the Wraith too, in the long run, but you made it this time to save _us_ , because that's all that we had to keep the Wraith from just killing us and taking Atlantis and—and Sheppard was right. And that's why Weir went along with it; you don't think Elizabeth wanted to help the Wraith, do you?"

Of course not. But Elizabeth was responsible for the people under her command; she was _not_ responsible for other lives. Carson was.

Rodney was still talking. "And that's exactly what that weapon did. It saved us from the Wraith who were, may I remind you, in _orbit_! They didn't kill us, they didn't get to Earth! And you almost died trying to save the, the humans you—we'd made out of Wraith!"

Carson studied the ceiling again. "It's not enough."

"No," Rodney said sadly. "It's not enough. It's never gonna be enough. But we don't have a time machine. We can't fix the past. We just do the best we can after this."

And then Rodney added, "Like I did after Doranda. And like I'm doing right now." His voice trembled, and this time Carson didn't look because he felt guilty that Rodney was letting so much show, for him. Rodney wasn't one to share. Even after Doranda, when Rodney was at his lowest, and Carson tried to let him know he wasn't alone, Rodney didn't talk about how he felt. "And I feel like absolute shit, but I'm getting our whole computer system secure and running again. Because they violated the agreement, and I should have seen it coming. I should have protected us! They violated our systems, but I'm not just letting them get away with the damage they've done. I screwed up, and I can't take it all back, but I'm gonna fix what I can."

He sucked in a deep breath. "And they violated _you_. But I'll be damned if those Wraith are gonna take you away _after_ we pulled you off that planet just in time." He pulled in another shuddering breath, but he didn't say anything more.

Rodney had been imprisoned by the Wraith, put in a cocoon. He'd waited for Wraith to _feed_ on him, thinking that he'd betrayed Atlantis _and_ Earth to the Wraith. But he wasn't here for sympathy for himself. He'd come because he was worried about Carson, even after everything Carson had done to make Michael what he was in the first place. And Michael had led the Wraith here, and Rodney would never have been in this awful position if Carson hadn't been playing God. But he was still here trying to make Carson feel better.

And maybe he couldn't make Carson feel better, but it seemed he could make him feel. Tears started in the corners of Carson's eyes, and then they were running down his face, and he rolled onto his side so that Rodney wouldn't see, but a sudden weight hit the bed.

"Carson? Carson, are you okay?" Rodney was suddenly bending over him, waving his arms, trying to see him but not to touch him.

"No," he choked out. The damnedest thing was that he had no idea why he was crying. Whether for the dead Wraith, or those Atlantis had lost, or for himself, or for Rodney, who had been through hell and would no doubt feel much better right now working on his computers, but who was in Carson's quarters anyway and who probably hadn't even eaten yet.

Rodney flailed helplessly above him, and Carson sniffled, trying to get a grip on himself.

A hand patted his shoulder, very slowly, very gently, and very clumsily.

After a few long moments, Carson managed to sit up enough to pull a handkerchief off his side table and blow his nose. The bed seemed to be moving. He wiped a hand across his eyes and looked.

Rodney was sitting on the bed, but he had turned to face out the window and was jiggling both legs now, arms crossed over his chest.

Carson gave a last sniffle or two.

Rodney jumped to his feet and rubbed his hands together. "Better?"

Carson nodded, not quite ready to talk yet. Actually, he felt like hell, but this time, he decided, it was better than just being lost.

"Good! Can we get breakfast now?"

Carson actually laughed at that. He had enough presence of mind to rinse and dry his face before they left.

"Good idea," Rodney said as he emerged. "Much better. No one will.... I'm hungry."

Carson almost giggled. He cleared his throat instead. "Let's go, then."

Rodney blethered about problems with computers and Zelenka all the way to the transporter, where he ostentatiously put his hands in his pockets and let Carson direct them toward the mess.

Colonel Sheppard was leaving the mess as they walked in. He raised an eyebrow at them.

"Colonel," said Rodney.

"Where ya been? I think all the donuts are gone." Sheppard grinned at them. "Catch you later."

"Is he avoiding me?" Carson asked after John had left.

"What? No, why would he do that? Damn, the donuts _are_ gone." Rodney was talking a little too fast. "I blame you." He turned to Carson. "I mean, no, I didn't mean that at all, I don't—"

Carson made himself smile. "Sure, you do. If it weren't for me, you'd have a donut."

"You don't think Ronon and Teyla saved me one? It would be...decent of them. Considering all I've done lately."

_For me_ , Carson added mentally.

It should be easy now, he thought. He'd cried some, gotten it out. He was over the worst of it. Maybe that mental block would be gone, and he could remember. Maybe later he'd even feel like working again. But the porridge just wasn't that appetizing, and they had indeed run out of donuts. Rodney found Teyla and Ronon and complained that they hadn't saved him any. And it was easier just not to talk.

Until Rodney announced that Carson was "feeling better today," and Carson froze with the spoon halfway to his mouth.

Teyla and Ronon were both looking at him.

"I am pleased to hear that," Teyla said brightly. A wee bit too brightly. She didn't truly believe Rodney, Carson realized.

Feeling he was letting his friend down, he said, "Aye. As a matter of fact, I am," and then he managed to get the spoon the rest of the way to his mouth.

Ronon's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't say anything. Teyla continued smiling.

"Oh, yeah, way to be supportive, guys!" Rodney said, too loudly.

An exasperated look flitted over Teyla's face. She quickly tried to hide it with another smile at Carson.

Carson figured he'd had enough porridge.

Rodney said something about checking up on Zelenka and fled.

"So, where are you going now?" Teyla asked. She had long since finished eating; Carson suspected she'd saved the last few bites of her breakfast for when he put in an appearance.

Carson frowned. He thought of a whole day stretching in front of him and realized he hadn't planned anything ahead since...he wasn't sure when. Thinking about a whole day was pretty daunting.

It would take effort to stay out of the fog. Effort he still wasn't certain he wanted to invest. But Teyla was watching him hopefully, and he owed her an answer. He was sure he'd ignored too many of the things she had said in the last few days. "I hadn't really thought about it, love," he answered.

"Would you like to meditate with me?" she suggested.

Oh, God. Would he like to sit quietly and _think_? He'd been doing lots of thinking lately. It seemed only to lead in circles.

Ronon leaned over the table. "I always fall asleep when I try it," he whispered loudly.

Teyla slapped Ronon on the shoulder.

"Or perhaps some stretching exercises?" she tried again.

As Carson contemplated falling down repeatedly in front of one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, he discovered he hadn't lost all of his pride yet.

"You could watch me train some Marines," Ronon suggested with a lupine grin.

Teyla rolled her eyes. "He means watch him hurt some Marines. Colonel Sheppard advised him yesterday to learn the concept of _sublimation_ better."

Ronon shook his head. "I looked it up. I don't see the point."

Carson could see the worry around their eyes. They were both watching him too intently, and the fact that they felt no need to disguise it probably showed just how out of it he'd been the past few days.

"I think I don't need a minder anymore," he said gently.

Teyla frowned.

"No offense, but...."

"He's getting tired of having us around all the time," Ronon translated.

Teyla's smile was a little too forced, but Ronon's looked natural enough.

It was far too easy to go back to his quarters and lie on his bed and stare at the ceiling again. Maybe he should have let his friends mind him a bit more. He wasn't ready to go back to the infirmary, and they seemed to be doing all right there without him. What the hell else did he do with his time?

Not a lot. He spent most of his time in the infirmary, except for meals and sleeping. No wonder it felt more like home than his quarters did. He went offworld sometimes. He shuddered at the thought. Well, at least they wouldn't make him do that again for a while.

Maybe they'd send him back to Earth. That hadn't occurred to him before. He couldn't understand why. He'd been so mired in what had happened that he hadn't given the future a thought. He hadn't even thought much of the past, except about the Wraith and Michael.

Maybe he should just return to Earth? His stomach turned at the thought. He sat up automatically. Better for the digestion.

Go home and do what? Practice medicine? That would be a lie. Act like nothing had happened. Act like he wasn't a killer. At least here, people knew what he was. And apparently, some of them still cared for him anyway. They'd spent a lot of time these last few days, when they could have been recovering themselves, doing the clean-up that needed to be done—watching over _him_. And leaving Atlantis—somehow he felt a loss just thinking about it.

Atlantis had come to feel like home as much as Scotland did, although in a very different way. Atlantis had always felt warm and welcoming—bright and happy to have them all after being empty for so long. As dangerous as this galaxy was, Atlantis was a safe haven. Even after they'd been invaded by the Genii, and nearly lost the place, it welcomed them. They cleaned up the mess from the storm and the Genii, and it sheltered them.

Until they'd let the Wraith in, and ruined this sanctuary they had. _He'd_ ruined it. He'd defiled his infirmary and even allowed a life to be taken there, in front of his eyes, with no more than token opposition.

He'd go home to Scotland, at some point. But he'd better get his head sorted before he inflicted himself on his mum, or anyone else, for that matter. And somehow, even while he felt Atlantis should be condemning him for what he'd done, he really couldn't find any sign that she had. The feeling of wrongness was in him, not in the city. Could he earn back his place here?

Well, if he was going to get himself together, he'd better figure out how to spend the time until his afternoon appointment. So what did he do besides work, eating, and sleeping?

Reports. He slid back down on the bed. He owed Doctor Weir a report. She'd been really nice to him, hadn't mentioned it at all. He supposed that was including in "all the time you need." He ought to do the report, though.

He'd already done reports on his role in the debacle up to the point where they established the colony on the planet. So he had to tell what he knew of what had happened on the planet.

And it was agony, he found as he sat with the laptop. He remembered sitting in Kate's office, hurting and wishing to fall back into numbness. He wondered if he could do that again, but part of him said that wasn't fair to his friends, to the people who were counting on him. And this time, that part of him that cared, and wanted to keep caring, seemed to be winning.

And another part of him said that any pain he felt was his own damned fault, and he should feel every bit of it because it was what he'd earned. And maybe if he did that, he'd have paid in some small measure for what he'd done, and then he could go on. He wrote his report. He couldn't remember anything new, but he wrote all that he could recall. Then he went back over it, revising, doing his best.

"Doctor Beckett?" Teyla's concerned voice finally reached Carson from the far side of the door. He'd fallen asleep. He couldn't believe he'd fallen asleep. "Doctor Beckett? I shall have to ask Doctor McKay to open this door if you do not answer." She sounded apologetic.

He opened the door, rubbing at his face. Teyla strode in quickly, trying to hide her worry.

"Sorry, love. I was reading over my report, and I guess I fell asleep." He checked his watch. It was past 1:30. They'd no doubt been watching for him at lunch.

Teyla looked surprisingly pleased. "I am certain you needed the sleep, Carson." She looked at the screen and frowned. "Your report?"

He closed the laptop quickly, not wanting her to read it. "Aye. It's overdue now, but Elizabeth has been very kind. I...I think it's almost ready now. I just want to read it over. Fix the spellings, the typing. I'm not very good at that." At least he could spell properly the bits he did recall. He almost laughed, but he knew he'd sound a little hysterical.

He got a grip on himself and stood up. "I suppose I'm late for lunch?"

Teyla nodded. "We were concerned."

"Aye. I'm sorry about that; I knew you'd be watching for me."

He managed to persuade her that he'd really eat, and she should go about her business. She'd doubtless put off quite a bit to spend all that time with him the last few days. Of course, Teyla's departure left him wide open in the mess, and he soon found himself seated opposite Major Lorne, who had just gotten back from a mission.

"Yeah, we're scouting for a new Alpha Site," the Major said, digging into his lunch. Then he froze, apparently remembering _why_ he was scouting for a new Alpha Site. "I mean, the computers—all our plans have been compromised, and—"

Carson could just about deal with Rodney and the others tiptoeing around him, mostly because they were bad at it. Rodney spoke without thinking half the time, and too loudly. Teyla on her own would probably be fine, but in combination with Ronon, and Rodney, and Sheppard's peculiar sense of humor—though that had been absent lately....

If the whole station was going to act this way, Carson really would go mad.

So he brought it out in the open himself. "And we need a new Alpha Site because of a certain CMO who had his mind read by a Wraith who might have survived."

Lorne straightened up, dropping his sandwich. "Whoa, Doc! This isn't about you! I mean, we'd have had to do it anyway...."

"I'm trying to tell you it's all right, lad." Carson took a deep breath. He really didn't feel like talking, but he had to keep going, or this was never going to end. "I don't know what Sheppard and the others have told you, but...I'm not going to fall apart anytime soon." He smiled a wee bit. He sincerely hoped it was true.

"Oh, no, nobody thought that!" Lorne's vehemence confirmed what Carson suspected.

It was truly amazing that they all cared so much about him. Even if it did mean watching over him like a hawk, and occasionally lying to him.

An odd stirring of curiosity.... "And which of the team threatened you if you said the wrong thing to me?" he asked casually.

Lorne's jaw dropped. A nice boy, and quite good at his job, but no match for Team Sheppard. Then again, who was?

"Um, Colonel Sheppard did indicate, that, uh...."

"Enough said." Carson's smile this time was real.

That out of the way, they managed to have an only slightly awkward conversation about the lovely swamp planet that Lorne had visited and crossed off the list. Carson might actually make it through this day after all.

He finished his report and sent it off to Elizabeth, as complete as he could make it. He looked around Atlantis as he walked down her corridors. It was good to be back. The warm sunlight coming through the stained glass windows brightened his spirits a little as he walked to Kate's office.

They tried the hypnosis first, at Carson's suggestion, to no more avail than previously.

"I guess that's it, then," Carson said, with a sharp pang of regret after she brought him out of it. "Nothing more is coming back." He was sure he wasn't resisting the memories now. He wanted them. So of course he couldn't have them.

Kate nodded. "I think that's safe to say. If I were a better hypnotist...maybe." She hesitated. "If you do decide you want to go back to Earth, you could try with someone—"

"Earth? Am I being sent back to Earth?" Carson asked nervously. No one had said anything yet. But he wasn't pulling his weight anymore; he was just a drain on resources now.

"No! No, I just thought...you...might have been thinking...about going home."

Carson relaxed back into his chair. "I don't think I'm ready to go...home just yet."

Kate nodded approvingly. "You seem more...at ease today." She waited for Carson to say something.

Carson nodded. "I think I'm...coming to terms with things. Somewhat." He sighed. "I supposed Rodney scared some sense into me."

Kate frowned. "Scared?"

"Well, he didn't _mean_ to kidnap me." Maybe his sense of humor was returning too. Rodney would be pleased.

"Kidnap?"

Carson frowned at her. Kate was a very good psychologist, but her bland reaction seemed too controlled, even for.... Oh. "Rodney's been here already today, hasn't he? No, I know you can't tell me anything.

"I...Rodney's been a bit...off. I thought it was because...." He'd been doing better this morning. He thought it would be easier to talk. "He was captive on a Hive ship—in a cocoon, even. I thought that was _quite_ enough. But it seems—I had no idea he was _that_ worried about me." Carson stared down at his hands. Time to clip his ragged fingernails. He kept them in very good trim usually. He'd let them go the past few days.

"You thought your friend wouldn't be worried about you?" Kate's voice held a smile that barely showed on her face.

"I should have known. I mean, he spent a lot of time with me, these past few days, even with all the work he has. But I...I wasn't particularly worried about him." Carson shrugged guiltily. "I didn't give a lot of thought to everybody else."

After a few moments of silence, Kate said, "Trauma can do that."

"But Rodney's trauma didn't stop him caring about me. And Teyla and Ronon—Ronon was on that same ship, in the next cocoon. Teyla—you know about her and the Wraith. She had to fly the damned Hive ship, and then be in proximity to all those Wraith in the new Hive and shut them out so that they couldn't find us in the Jumper. And Colonel Sheppard. I think he's blaming himself." He frowned. "I've hardly seen the colonel. Only when he's with the others, and only briefly. Maybe he blames me."

Kate shifted her weight a bit. "Maybe you should ask him."

Carson examined her closely. "Maybe he's been here too?"

"Maybe you should stop asking about other people and focus on yourself."

Carson chuckled a little, though he didn't feel like it. "Well, see, that's the problem. I've been focused only on myself the last few days."

Kate shook her head. "Not in a productive way."

And not in a way she was going to allow any longer. Fair enough. "So what do you propose?"

"What do you _want_?" she asked, leaning forward a little to signal that she would listen attentively. He knew the tricks she used, but they were still effective. At least when he was paying attention.

"I don't know, exactly." He took a deep breath. "I think I've had enough of feeling...numb. I talked to Rodney this morning. Actually," he realized, "he did most of the talking."

Kate couldn't quite hide her smile this time. She brushed her hair out of the way. It hadn't been that vibrant red when they first arrived here, had it? Was she bringing hair color to the Pegasus galaxy?

He was getting distracted. "I...I thought I had a breakthrough. And maybe I did. It's still...hard, though?" He turned it into a question. At her nod, he went on. "I know I'm still not myself, exactly. I don't know...." He didn't know what he wanted. He didn't know if he _could_ be himself anymore. He didn't know if he wanted to. Did that mean accepting everything that he'd done wrong?

The silence dragged on.

"So," asked Kate gently, "what do you _want_? Where do you want to go from here?"

That was exactly the problem he thought he'd managed to convey. He looked at her helplessly. "I don't know."

"All right. Let's consider the possibilities. You don't want to go back to Earth."

Carson shook his head.

"Why not?"

"I.... First, I don't think I'd belong there. I mean, I'm...I'm a war criminal," he whispered.

Kate froze. She didn't have an answer for that, did she? She looked away from him. Maybe she hadn't seen it before. Now that she saw him for what he really was....

"If you are," she said softly, turning back to him, "so am I."

Oh, damn. Yes, she'd been involved in the experiment with Michael, and that had been a mistake. But not criminal. "No, I don't think you are. You didn't create a weapon—"

She raised a hand, cutting him off; in his astonishment, Carson didn't argue. "I've encouraged your research every step of the way. You wouldn't have done that first experiment if I hadn't told you that I would treat the subject's mental and emotional state. If I hadn't _assured_ you that I could do it. And I argued that one failure didn't mean you couldn't make an improved drug with a high success rate!"

"But I did the experiment. I made the decision; it wasn't your call! And I did all the work. I mean, not to...belittle your efforts, but...."

"Elizabeth Weir gave the final approval for that experiment; it wasn't your call either. And Doctor Weir and Colonel Sheppard approved the alliance with the Wraith, and specifically the use of the weapon that you developed _with_ Doctor Zelenka's help on the delivery system, and Doctor McKay's help too. It wasn't _your_ call either."

"But I could have said _no_ , I should have said no, and there wouldn't have been a damned thing they could do!" Carson said, appalled. "They had the safety of the whole of Atlantis to worry about. They're not medical doctors; they didn't have the same responsibilities, towards their field, towards the victims—"

" _You_ had the safety of the whole of Atlantis to worry about, and, with a threat to Atlantis, the safety of Earth," Kate said, almost pleading. "And if I had said no to that first experiment, would you have done it?" She waited for an answer that Carson couldn't give.

"There's no way you can take responsibility for that," he said, a chill settling in his guts. But it wasn't the same cold he'd felt before. This was worry for Kate.

"I can, and I have," she said. She too was tired. Everyone around him seemed worn thin by the crisis, and by the losses they'd sustained. The losses could certainly have been worse, but that didn't mean the lives lost weren't important. "I have responsibility for the failed experiment with Michael too. I consistently misjudged his progress—misjudged the whole situation. I had no idea how deep the Wraith instinct went, how easily it would resurface. And I have the same professional responsibilities you do.

"You can't take on responsibility that you deny others," she concluded.

So she didn't feel guilty? It was just logic games, to allow him to avoid his own guilt?

"We've all made mistakes," Carson said grimly. "That doesn't mean none of us are responsible."

Kate put a hand to her forehead. "No," she said into her palm. "But if we respect each other, if we believe that we did what we thought was best, or what really _was_ the best option in a really _shitty_ situation, then we have to acknowledge that we've all made mistakes. And that our mistakes only built on each other—we encouraged, even pressured each other, to do what we thought was necessary. So now we all have some guilt, but none of us has a monopoly."

Carson gaped at her. He'd misjudged her a moment ago. She really did feel it.

"Oh, sorry. Pardon my language." She hooked her hair behind her ears, embarrassed but no longer hiding her face.

"I've heard worse, love. I'm a doctor, remember." Carson smiled. Hell, he'd said worse. Quite often, in fact.

"So...." She relaxed back in her chair, and only then did Carson notice how tense she'd gotten. "Can you accept that you're not the only guilty party here?"

"I think I already have," he answered.

"Then the question remains: what next? I know why you don't want to go back to Earth, but are there positive reasons for staying on Atlantis?"

Carson considered how to put his feelings into words. "It's my home now, I guess. I mean, most of my friends are here. And..." He shrugged. "The city just...feels right. Somehow, I think I still belong."

She nodded. "All good reasons. So you want to stay. Well, I guess my first job is to help you work through the guilt."

Carson thought for a long moment. "What if I'm not ready to let go of the guilt?"

Kate smiled a little. "Then join the club. I'm not a chaplain; I can't absolve your guilt. I can help you live with it."

But she looked so drained, Carson had to ask, "And who helps you live with yours?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh, I seem to be doing all right at the moment." She pulled herself straighter in her chair. "I think we've got more sessions in front of us, but we need to identify some concrete goals."

Carson thought 'living with guilt' was a pretty big goal, but Kate wasn't satisfied. She wanted something more concrete. And Carson finally agreed that returning to work in the infirmary was a goal. They didn't talk about whether it would be as CMO still.

Feeling utterly drained, Carson looked at his watch. "I've been here more than ninety minutes," he whispered, appalled.

"That's okay," Kate said with a smile. "You're my last appointment of the day."

Carson hoped Kate had someone she could talk to about her own problems. But he knew he wasn't that person, at least not right now.

Left to his own devices, Carson drifted back to his quarters—only to find Radek Zelenka just coming to knock.

"I thought I was through with minders," Carson said.

Radek regarded him quizzically. "Minders? I just want dinner."

Carson gave in to the inevitable and turned around to go to the mess. "Rodney get tired of me?"

"I get tired of Rodney. Drive me crazy. Everything is wrong, only he can fix it—so I let him fix it." Radek made a face, somewhere between amused and disgusted. "You know he will come get me, probably before I finish eating, and make me help him even while he tells me how useless I am."

So Carson learned that Radek had become part of the rotation of minders too. It seemed voluntary. Laura Cadman knocked him up for breakfast the next morning. Elizabeth Weir asked him to lunch. She told him a little about Woolsey, who had just left. She told him she'd still be in charge of Atlantis—for now, anyway. Carson was stunned. He hadn't realized that had ever been in doubt. He really did need to pay attention.

His friends made it hard to retreat into the fog, though he found that there were moments when he wanted to do just that. When he stepped back into the infirmary to resume his duties was one of those times. He was still considering resigning as CMO, to stay on just as a doctor, but the other doctors and nurses looked so thrilled to see him back, he didn't want to say anything. He felt a pull, a heaviness, dragging him down and away from his staff's eager faces. But he fought it, and he won, at least for that afternoon. And Kate assured him that those little victories really mattered, that that was how one won through in the end.

Rodney popped up at irregular intervals to tow him along to meals, to talk, or to beat him at some game and then insult him for losing. Zelenka came by to complain about Rodney. Laura came by to chatter about nothing in particular.

When Sheppard and his team returned from recon a few days after he'd resumed his duties, Carson decided it was time to corner the colonel. It was easy enough to ensure that the John's post-misson physical finished last. He checked Sheppard himself, watching for any odd reactions, still trying to determine why the man was avoiding him. John seemed his usual self: cracking wise, dismissing questions about his health, eager to get away. He was always keen to leave the infirmary after a mission, so that in itself revealed nothing.

"I hear your debriefing has been delayed by some diplomatic cangle," he said casually, following Sheppard from the infirmary after a whispered word to Cole.

John shrugged. "I suppose that depends on what 'cangle' means."

Carson refused to be distracted. "It means we can go get coffee."

John froze for the briefest moment; Carson couldn't decide if he looked more like a deer in the headlights, or a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He recovered a moment later, unfreezing to shrug again and grin. "Sure! Why not?"

They started walking.

"Well, maybe because you've been avoiding me for how many days now?"

"Avoiding you?" Sheppard entered the transporter, shoved his hands in his pockets, and slouched.

"Everyone else has taken it in turns to make sure I get to meals and appointments." Carson rolled his eyes. "Which I don't need anymore, thank you all very much. But you?"

"I've been busy." John smiled apologetically, looking him right in the eye. The transporter door opened. Lots of people. "I'm not sure I need coffee after all."

"A walk, then?" Carson led the way, into a less crowded hallway.

John looked at him sideways, obviously waiting for something.

"So?" Carson said as casually as he could. "Out with it, man. I've had to spill my guts to half the station this past week, feels like. You could at least tell me why you don't want to be in my presence."

Sheppard grimaced. "It's not that, Doc. I'm not...."

"The only time you've come near my quarters was when Rodney ordered you to bring his sleeping bag," Carson ticked off. "You've said hello a few times, but only when there are other people around, and you're always finishing a meal when I'm starting one in the mess, or starting when I'm leaving." Which was quite a feat, considering how unpredictable his schedule had been.

He led them out onto a balcony. It was warm and sunny. He was glad he'd left his jacket back in his quarters. "So are you so disgusted with me you can't bear to talk to me?"

"What?" John looked genuinely bewildered. "Disgusted that you needed a couple of days to pull yourself together after you were in Wraith hands for God knows how long? Are you _nuts_?" He winced. "I mean—I don't mean you're nuts. That's totally _not_ what I mean."

Carson smiled. "You've spent too much time with Rodney. You're starting to talk like him."

"Ow!" Sheppard stepped back. "You really know how to wound a guy, Doc!" Then he became more serious. "Is that what you thought? That I was upset that you—damn. I was just trying to...." He slouched against the wall, looking out over the ocean. "I thought...I ordered Rodney to fire on the planet, on those...people. Over your objections. And I know _why_ you objected, and why Rodney didn't want to do it. In a way, you were right; we should have done more to protect them." He shook his head. "But it was too late. We had no time to go back to the planet and save the ones who hadn't reverted yet. I had to destroy them all, or the Wraith would have found out about us. If we'd let them live, that Hive would have picked them all up, and they'd probably have taken Atlantis by now.

"And I figured you had enough to deal with without having to play nice with the guy who blew your patients all to hell." Sheppard turned his head just enough to look Carson in the eye.

After a while, Carson managed to say, "Oh." He knew much more was called for, but he didn't know what else to say.

"And you thought I was upset with you?" Sheppard prompted.

"Well, I'm the reason you had to kill them! My research was a disaster. I didn't learn from the first trial; I took nearly two hundred non-consenting subjects and tampered with their DNA, and I kept doing it, and it didn't even work! At least, it didn't work on enough of them that...." he couldn't continue.

John was right in front of him before Carson realized he'd peeled himself off the wall. "Doc, you gave them a chance. If you hadn't kept medicating them, we'd have had to let them die in those stasis chambers, because we didn't have the power to keep them alive there. You gave them the best chance you could. It didn't work." His voice was rough with regret. "And I _hate_ that it didn't work. Maybe not as much as you do, but I do. I didn't _want_ to kill them all; I guess you know that. And I should have realized you knew that. But I was afraid you'd blame me."

Carson snickered nervously. "So I've been assuming you blame me, and you've been assuming—"

"I wouldn't call it 'assuming,' exactly. More...worrying. You had enough to deal with. And I figured you have plenty of friends."

Carson smiled. "I can't have too many. And I was afraid I'd lost one there."

John shook his head. "Not a chance. But you've gotta blame me, at least a little, for taking out the whole camp."

Carson shook his head. "If I try to weigh guilts, I'm...I'm lost. I can't function. Any guilt you've incurred seems minor next to my own."

"Hey, that sounds pretty big-headed of you!" Sheppard crossed his arms. "Now who's been hanging out with Rodney too much?"

Carson turned to look out over the still waters. "Do you blame yourself?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. You're not going to try to talk me out of it, are you?"

Carson shook his head.

"Good. Because it wouldn't work anyway."

Carson looked at him again. There was a darkness behind John's eyes sometimes that frightened him. Maybe because he knew he had such darkness too. "So you're handling it...?"

"I'm handling it." John shrugged.

Carson narrowed his eyes. "Not affecting your work?" A shake of the head. "Not affecting your life?" Another shake. Carson couldn't see any tells, any physical giveaways. But John's behavior the last several days didn't bear it out. "You're a better liar than I am, Colonel Sheppard, but that's not saying much."

John grinned. "Fair enough." The grin slid away. "I guess I...sorta let it interfere with some things." He looked at Carson, and Carson knew what he meant. "I was busy. We had a lot to worry about throughout the city, and on the Daedalus, and Woolsey was poking his nose into everything.... I figured you were...distracted. You didn't need me around, reminding you—"

"No, the things I need most to remember, you can't help with." Yet John Sheppard had enough worries of his own. He didn't need to be burdened with the odd pain the gap in his memories still gave him, so he hurried to say, "It's not what _you_ did that bothers me most. But thanks," Carson said, keeping his tone light.

"I imagine Rodney was offering you daily reports on me anyway?" Carson asked as they stepped back inside. 

"Rodney? Ha! He told me days ago I'd have to talk to you myself if I wanted to know anything." He smirked. "So I talked to Teyla." He paused. "Until she _also_ told me she wouldn't 'spy' for me—her word."

So Sheppard stopped avoiding him, and, once Carson returned to the infirmary full time, people stopped turning up to drag him off to meals. He tried to make sure they didn't need to. He found himself CMO again, or still, because he'd never actually told anyone he wanted to step down, and then he didn't have the heart to tell them, after they'd taken such good care of him and welcomed him back so warmly. That probably wasn't a good reason to be Chief Medical Officer of Atlantis. But Elizabeth had thought enough of him to ask him the first time, and he didn't have a good reason to step down.

There were still days when Carson didn't want to get out of bed, and nights when he saw the faces of Wojda, Ahumibe, Morrison, and Blake. The faces of some of the Wraith he'd converted. And Michael's face. There were still times when he didn't feel like talking or eating. But mostly, he made himself do those things anyway, as best he could. Perhaps it was a kind of penance for what he'd done. Perhaps it was just living with the guilt. He was still working on that, with Kate.

There were more days when Carson did want to get out of bed, and days when he had good meals with friends (though the food was sometimes dubious). Rodney stopped making him lose at chess. He hoped, sometimes even prayed, that Lieutenant Morrison and his team had found a place of rest. A better place than this. But Atlantis wasn't such a bad place most of the time.

Then one day Sheppard came back from a mission—he really shouldn't have _been_ on that mission, with a head cold, but he'd managed to slip it past Biro, who did the pre-mission checks—and told Carson they'd found someone who claimed to have cures for many diseases.

"I'd think he was just a quack, but the people around him all swore up and down he was the greatest thing since sliced bread."

"Don't know what's so great about sliced bread," Ronon chipped in. Carson had seen Ronon down whole loaves, so he wasn't about to try to explain.

"They did look healthy," Teyla added.

"Friendly people," John said, wheedling just a little.

Rodney snorted. "He means friendly _women_." He grinned. "Though they weren't as friendly to Colonel Kirk here as alien women usually are; they all seemed to like this guy Lucius more."

"Not that he was anything to look at," John snickered.

"See? See!" Rodney waved a finger at the Colonel. "He's jealous! He's usually the one who gets all—"

"Rodney," Teyla cut in with an air of patience worn just slightly thin.

"I'm just saying—"

Carson raised his hands in resignation, but he smiled. "I might just have to check it out." He hadn't, after all, been offworld in, what, weeks? Perhaps it was time to get out a bit more.

Then he realized the team was looking at him expectantly, that they had every appearance of conspiring against him—well, Rodney did; the others were a bit subtler—and that they doubtless knew how long it had been since he'd been offworld too. And why he hadn't left in so long.

Well, he couldn't let them down, could he?

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks once again to Redbyrd and to my Brilliant Husband for their usual stellar work in suggesting improvements and proofreading! Thanks also to Loriel Eris for reading my attempts at Scots English and preventing me from making too much a fool of myself! Remaining errors are solely mine (except for those that actually appeared on screen during the episodes, for which I take no credit).
> 
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> DISCLAIMER: Stargate: Atlantis and its characters belong to MGM-UA, Gekko,, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions, Stargate SG-1, Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, NBC/Sci Fi, and no doubt other persons or entities whom I've forgotten (this list keeps getting longer). No copyright infringement is intended. In fact, my stories make no sense if you haven't seen the shows, so I encourage you to watch! And get all the DVDs! Just like I do!


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